tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53901112024-03-07T18:17:19.181-06:00Meatloaf and a RosaryLori Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05600443590399882818noreply@blogger.comBlogger1742125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5390111.post-72089110321539005082021-09-20T14:38:00.000-05:002021-09-20T14:38:06.702-05:00Depression Is Not A Sin (So Why Do I Still Treat It Like One?)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHXyXEcEgC7ylOQVoNzrd7Q_r26rkWunoF5d47wOje5u3AsaXth9NKe8_jEnk4xt7uqGwQj9E-HF7h6vExCTn8sQjtwoMNGt54IS6AGhTxPr1JIyGomXUZzywWrLTdl6q6lwur/s1920/girl-6059889_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1920" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHXyXEcEgC7ylOQVoNzrd7Q_r26rkWunoF5d47wOje5u3AsaXth9NKe8_jEnk4xt7uqGwQj9E-HF7h6vExCTn8sQjtwoMNGt54IS6AGhTxPr1JIyGomXUZzywWrLTdl6q6lwur/w400-h266/girl-6059889_1920.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>[Image by <a href="https://pixabay.com/users/vdnhieu-20473455/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=6059889">Hieu Van</a> from <a href="https://pixabay.com/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=6059889">Pixabay</a>]</i></div><br />When I was a young teen, maybe a preteen, I mentioned to my dad that I thought I might be depressed. This was my non-confrontational way of letting my parents know I was struggling. My dad replied in his usual dismissive and adultlike condescending way that "Christians can't be depressed. If you have God, what do you have to be depressed about?"<p></p><p>To understand the effect this off-handed yet reprimanding remark had on me, you have to understand how seriously I took my faith in God from as far back as toddlerhood. Being a Christian was the most important aspect of my being. Pleasing God and striving for righteous perfection was my deepest desire. <i>(Even now, I feel the obligation to add the disclaimer that while it was my deepest desire, I was so imperfect at it at the same time. I can't even talk about my sincere faith without reminding myself how imperfect I was, lest I forget.)</i> So to discover that my depression was yet another sign that I was failing God and failing as a Christian was a blow that struck deep and hard. </p><p>I must have been around 13 or 14 when this exchange occurred. I had been feeling depressed for a while and my suicidal thoughts were starting to drift into suicidal considerations. Not quite "plans" but more than ideation. I felt bottomless, endless, hopeless. I didn't know who to talk to so I gathered up my courage to broach the subject with the person I believed had more wisdom and righteousness than anyone else I knew. </p><p>In that moment of vulnerability he confirmed one of my deepest fears - that I did not love God enough, and that was why I was depressed. Worse, my being depressed was <i>in itself </i>a sin. The word "depression" became synonymous with both sin and the wages of sin. A never-ending cyclone, and the only exit was "obey God more". </p><p>So I internally replaced depression with guilt. </p><p>Depression is a lonely prison in the human experience. Whether you are surrounded by the physical presence of a dozen other humans or isolated from all other sentient beings doesn't really matter. You are trapped inside yourself by locks with no keys. There are either no windows, or there are bars on the windows six feet above you. Or perhaps it's like being buried alive, and the harder you try to claw your way up, the deeper you dig your grave. Eventually you give up trying and find yourself lying curled up in the dirt, exhausted and listless. Your eyes glaze over. Your muscles are tense but weak. Your body is there and not there at the same time. You feel everything and you feel nothing. </p><p>There could be friends and family reaching down to help you up or you could be in utter isolation. Either way, you feel the same. Alone. Powerless. Dead inside yet crawling with maggots of feelings. Mildewed, like your insides are a damp rag shut inside a box, spores bursting into mold and caking every inch of surface, no extra oxygen needed for decomposing. </p><p>Not everyone experiences depression the same way, of course. The scenery, the lighting, the make-up, and the characters are all performing a similar play but with different directors. <i>Passive</i> directors, oftentimes, who have in some way lost control of the show, powerless to direct our own lives. </p><p>My play's theme is saturated with religious guilt and external condemnation (possibly perceived, most often real). It is heavy on self-blame, self-isolation, and self-punishment. I dress it up for my audience with self-deprecating jokes, a pretense of coping, and over-compensating perfectionism. I learned from religion that the best Christians are humble and meek, honest about their imperfections, but ever striving to finish the race. If you are down, it's okay to talk about being down, as long as it is couched in a story of perfect grace, of a savior who will lift you from the depths and restore your joy. To "wallow" in it though, or talk incessantly about it, will only dampen your witness, so keep the real shit to yourself. </p><p>It took me nearly 20 years to shed the fallacy that depression is a sin and something to be ashamed of. But a few things from that brief conversation with my father have never left me:</p><p>1) <b>I still equate depression with guilt. </b>I look at all the things <i>I</i> did to bring this on myself. I look at all my failures, all my mistakes, all the steps I took to get myself into this mess and spend all of my time berating and hating myself for them. I then look at how my miserable self is affecting others negatively, particularly my children and my relationships, and I heap the guilt on over that. I blame myself for not being able to "get a grip and get on with it." I punish myself as a means of reformation. I dare not "spare the rod" of discipline against myself, because that's exactly how evil people become more evil. This is what Christianity taught me. To achieve salvation, you must be purified by fire. You must destroy all the evil inside of you at whatever cost. If that "evil" manifests itself as depression, then destroy the depression by destroying all the parts of you that suck. Leave nothing but perfection behind. Blame nothing on anyone or anything else; the blame is solely yours and the worse you feel about it, the better you'll be in the end. If I am depressed, it's because I deserve to be. <br /></p><p>2) <b>I still experience depression as a deficiency. </b>I don't believe depression is a deficiency in<i> anyone else, </i>just in me. I will speak up loudly against the stigma surrounding depression in regards to everyone else, but when it gets to me personally, I only share the talking points, the management-approved topics. To go into depth about what I am personally experiencing would be an overshare and a nuisance. I try to avoid being a burden on anyone, especially if I can't give them anything back in return. I learned from early on that love (or in this case support) is transactional, and unless you can pay up right away or at least promise to pay it back later on, you don't ask for it. </p><p>I learned this about love because that's how salvation works. Salvation, like love, is freely given on the outset, but it requires a sacrifice of your entire life to accept. Just like Jesus had to give his entire life for us, we must in return give our entire lives to him to attain the forgiveness offered by the cross. If we can't give everything, we might as well give nothing. So if I can't promise that I'll be able to give the same level of support back to those who have supported me, then I won't ask for it in the first place. If I feel I'm more of a drag on someone than a support, then I won't lean on them. I won't put my yoke around their necks. I'll carry my burdens completely alone to avoid placing them on anyone else. Depression is <i>my</i> deficiency, not theirs. I don't even share everything with my therapist because I'm too embarrassed and ashamed of my defects.</p><p>3) <b>I do not expect family to be my support system.</b> As I said before, I believed "good Christians" were allowed to experience <i>a version of</i> depression as long as it didn't last too long and didn't bring anyone else down with it. Christians can receive support from other Christians, which often involves prayer and Scripture verses, and sometimes (when it's starting to get really bad) a good old-fashioned kick-in-the-backside tough love. But when you are no longer a Christian... well, that is a horse of a different color.</p><p>When I was an evangelical Christian, I believed that non-Christians (or even those liberal Christians) felt depressed because of the God-shaped hole in their lives. Of course they were depressed! Without God, what did they expect? <i>Joy?!</i> Please. If they would just change their lives and live the way God intended for them to live, they'd be on a much happier path. My support often looked more like evangelism than love. So it's no surprise this is the mentality I expect from my family. This and the words my dad said to me all those years ago. If I'm depressed, it's because I don't love God enough.</p><p>I don't believe in God any more, but my family does. Even if I did feel comfortable enough to reach out to someone for support, knowing I may not be able to give it back in full, I would not expect that person to be a family member. They would only see me as a lost soul, someone struggling with depression because of my own poor choices and lack of faith. I already blame myself enough, I already see my inability to cope with life as a deficiency; I don't need those false narratives repeated back to me. I need someone to tell me that I'm not at fault, I'm not the cause of all the pain and suffering around me, I'm not weak, and I'm not inherently bad. But I learned long ago that those words will never come from the mouths of fundamentalist Christians. The only support and love they know, they learned from the same source I did. They only know it as evangelism. They only know it in context of God's example of love "freely given" at an unpayable price. </p><p>So where does that leave me? It leaves me here, right now, in my pajama pants and sweatshirt, trying to keep my job, my home, my children, my relationships, my finances, and my public-facing image out of the six-feet-deep prison that I am lying in. Sharing just a little more than my management-approved talking points with nobody and everybody at the same time. Resisting the urge to end this with my pre-programmed note of hope and everything-is-going-to-be-okay (what I call the Christian finish). Because I don't know if everything is going to be okay. I really don't think it will be. I will keep going because I have to, but not because I'm strong or hopeful. I will keep going only because too much depends on me.</p>Lori Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05600443590399882818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5390111.post-44169583986469028462020-07-10T21:35:00.000-05:002020-07-10T21:41:40.502-05:00100 Things About Me (Version 4.0)<div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh94Eox2yi5Iti7quIZNwQZWzvWmu0ybyo2YOU9UW318SVmiHxZ-bGEhKAagvDOXxuJfpPuxjc_KjFYSOcvO9EzQfa8g2u6tPz36GGFo40m6l8STDXDcU2H2VpzP8B6cy_0NKFU/s1600/about+me.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="483" data-original-width="902" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh94Eox2yi5Iti7quIZNwQZWzvWmu0ybyo2YOU9UW318SVmiHxZ-bGEhKAagvDOXxuJfpPuxjc_KjFYSOcvO9EzQfa8g2u6tPz36GGFo40m6l8STDXDcU2H2VpzP8B6cy_0NKFU/s320/about+me.png" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">Every now and then I update my "about me" page. As an ever-evolving person (always reforming! *Calvinist joke*) the 100 Things About Me inevitably become obsolete after a period of time.</span><br />
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So. If you want to know way too much about me, pour yourself some coffee, get comfortable and meet Lori Arnold, 2020 version.</span><br />
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<i style="font-family: inherit;">Hint: If you want to REALLY get to know me, you can read the past 300 things about me listed in the "<a href="http://www.loriarnoldmcfarlane.com/p/about-me.html" target="_blank">about me</a>" page. </i><br />
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*BONUS! You get to choose how to digest this <b>highly important</b> information: watch the video, or read below.<br />
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<iframe allow="autoplay; fullscreen" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/437319436" width="640"></iframe><br />
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<i><a href="https://vimeo.com/437319436">100 Things About Me - 2020 Version</a> from <a href="https://vimeo.com/user137445">superlori</a> on <a href="https://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.</i><br />
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</i> <b>100 Things About Me - 4.0</b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">1. As I've stated before, I was born and raised in Arkansas. That has not changed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">2. It has also not changed that I went to college at the University of Arkansas at Fayetteville and majored in English with an emphasis in Creative Writing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">3. Okay, several things haven't changed, but they will soon. After graduating the U of A, I married a Scotsman named Scott and moved to Scotland, where I lived for the next 9 years of my life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">4. After, you know, several years, I ended up with three children, who shall be referred to here as Fifi, Lolly and Jaguar/Cub. (He didn't like being called Jaguar, so a couple of years ago I acquiesced to his wishes and changed him to Cub.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">5. I have had a lot of pets, mostly cats, which is weird because I kind of hate cats AND I'm allergic to cats. But I have a soft spot for kittens, and that's how they get you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">6. Besides the many cats, I've also had pet rabbits, dogs, and a long succession of fish who refuse to stay alive. I've also had plants that I got attached to only to watch them die as well. Oh and in high school, I had a pet rat. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">7. Right now I'm totally fantasizing about a pet bird. I know this is a bad idea, especially because of said cats, but wouldn't a birdie be cute??</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">9. Okay, so maybe I just like naming pets. In order, my pets have been named: Squirt, Remedios the Beauty and Clementine, Kate and Wills, Dora and Boots, Chewbacca and Zelda, Gracie, Kitty Whiskers (to present), Sassy, Isobel, Pumpkin Spice, Butterbeer, Panda (to present), the OneRedCrossBetta, Sushi, Betta O'Rourke, and Cookie (to present).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">10. Enough about pets. I also like cake. No, I take that back. I LOVE cake.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">11. Yeah, so back to the timeline. I moved back to Arkansas in 2013 with Scott and our three kids.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">12. Scott and I split up a few years later though. But we remain good friends and great co-parents.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">13. Then I met Neil and a few years later, we married. So now I'm married to Neil. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">14. Since he has four daughters, I now have seven children I call mine. Seven children and three cats.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">15. I still live in Arkansas, but Neil lives in Mississippi. So that's an interesting dynamic. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">16. Neil and I are both writers. He writes for a blog called <a href="https://godlessindixie.com/" target="_blank">Godless in Dixie</a>. I *ahem* used to write for a blog called *this one* and I've also written a book called <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Last-Petal-Falling-Memoir/dp/151189900X/ref=sr_1_2?dchild=1&keywords=the+last+petal+falling+book&qid=1593611638&sr=8-2" target="_blank">The Last Petal Falling</a>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">17. A cursory glance at either and you will correctly surmise we both used to be Christians and we are not anymore.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">18. Just to rip off the rest of the band-aid all at once, I'm a humanist who believes in Black Lives Matter, LGBTQ equality, feminism, a woman's right to choose, humanitarianism, impartiality, and that </span>free or affordable healthcare is a right, immigrants and asylum seekers are people who deserve to be treated with humanity and dignity, and the earth is round. Oh, and COVID-19 is real. #virtuesignaling</div>
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19. Social Justice Warrior<span style="background-color: white; color: #4d5156; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">™</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #4d5156; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> </span>points aside, I also believe in open and compassionate conversations with a wide range of people and view points, keeping an open mind, being willing to accept when I am wrong, confronting my unconscious bias, and not jumping to conclusions about people based on preconceived notions. I am against cancel culture, which I do not think is helpful for encouraging anyone's individual growth or consensus. </div>
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20. I may be an atheist, but I support the rights and beliefs of people of all religions, and as long as one's religious practices don't hurt or harm others, I take no issues with people practicing and standing by their faith.</div>
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21. I love chocolate.<br />
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22. I also love cheese.</div>
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23. I'm a shopaholic. </div>
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24. I love hiking, camping, and backpacking. </div>
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25. I am a <a href="https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=756983048463873" target="_blank">pluviophile</a>. </div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">26. I hate sports, except soccer (to watch) and tennis (to play).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">27. My favorite cuisines are Thai food, Mexican food and pizza.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">28. I love to sleep.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">29. I enjoy reading, though with my busy schedule, I tend to do more audiobooks than paperbacks these days. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">30. I have a slough of hobbies that I go in and out of, depending on the seasons of my life, like sewing, painting, writing, crafting, and baking. (But not cooking. I hate cooking.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">31. I am an ENFJ, an Orange/Blue, a Three/Eight and an Expressor/Controller. (Any other personality tests out there I'm missing?)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">32. I don't believe in horoscopes, but I'm an Aries.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">33. My main love languages are words of affirmation and gifts.</span></div>
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34. <span style="font-family: inherit;">I donate blood every 56 days (or so).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">35. I work for the American Red Cross (and so as a disclaimer: all my opinions are completely my own and do not always necessarily reflect the opinions of my employer). I love the <a href="https://www.redcross.org/about-us/who-we-are/mission-and-values.html" target="_blank">mission, values and fundamental principles</a> of the Red Cross. <-- That link is worth following!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">36. I'm afraid of spiders, heights, enclosed spaces, and failure.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">37. I love bright colors. The colors that I'm most attracted to are bold and bright like red, yellow or turquoise.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">38. I hate my feet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">39. I like my hair. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">40. My hair has been a variety of colors and shades, lengths and styles. Some of these were good choices, others were not. Currently my hair is dark brown and long, though I'm slowly going redder with every root touch-up.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">41. As cliche as it sounds, I like a wide variety of music, but I get the most out of indie music. I get the least out of country. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">42. I like indie movies too, especially ones that make me cry. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">43. I'm an empath. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">44. I like for people to like me, and I put too much stock into what other people think of me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">45. I'm a perfectionist, an overachiever, and an overthinker.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">46. I live too much in the future. Neil is more of an in-the-moment guy, which makes us a good match for each other. He is teaching me to enjoy the present.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">47. I keep a gratitude journal. *Almost* every day, I write three things I'm grateful for and one thing I'm looking forward to for tomorrow. I've just added a third category too - something I like about myself. I call that my "worthiness" column, because it occurred to me the other day that I don't often believe I'm all that worthy of anything special. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">48. I love to travel. My job keeps me on the road a lot (at least when we're not in a pandemic). I've traveled all over the world, mostly on mission trips when I was a young person. I've been to Canada, Mexico, Venezuela, England, Scotland, Wales, France, Israel, Jordan, and Pakistan. I've visited 19 states (not counting states I've merely driven through) and Washington D.C. I want to travel more. Visiting every continent is on my bucket list; I still have Africa, Australia and Antarctica to go.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">49. Riding in a hot air balloon is another item on my bucket list. I'm afraid of heights though. (See #36)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">50. I'm a neat freak. I hate disorder.</span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">51. I pride myself on my ability to perfectly fold a fitted sheet. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">52. I have ADHD, and I deal with anxiety and depression.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">53. I'm kind of a hippie, crunchy mom who practiced co-sleeping, extended breastfeeding, baby-led weaning, baby-wearing, baby signing, gentle parenting and cloth diapering. My kids are older now, and I have yet to determine how my kids will turn out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">54. I have awesome kids though. Just for the record. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">55. I love Bernie Sanders. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">56. I am in support of an independent Scotland.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">57. I met my new husband on the internet (sort of - via his blog). My previous husband actually introduced me to his website years ago when I was first deconverting. (But there was zero funny business or even contact with him until well AFTER we split up, just in case your mind went there.) </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">We have, shall we say, a very "non-traditional" marriage. And it's the happiest I've ever been. *Insert heart emoji.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">58. I used to write poetry. I will eventually get my poems into a book so I can say I've published TWO books and be an even more authentic author.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">59. I like alliteration. </span><i>Technically<span style="font-family: inherit;">,</span></i><span style="font-family: inherit;"> actually, it is consonance that I like more.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">60. I like to start projects with alliterative or consonant titles. I'm more likely to stick with something if it has a catchy project name. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">61. I'm a bit of a diva, and I love singing on stage, acting on stage, and public speaking. Pass me a mic, I'll find something to do with it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">62. I wish I were funny enough to write like David Sedaris. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">63. </span>I love thunderstorms - just not the damage they can cause. </div>
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64. I'm both an adrenaline junkie and risk adverse. Figure that one out.</div>
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65. My current favorite TV show is <i>The Good Place</i> on Netflix. My all time favorite TV shows are <i>Gilmore Girls</i> and <i>Scrubs</i>.</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">66. I am always starting and failing diets.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">67. I am always starting and failing exercise plans.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">68. I love real mail. I enjoy writing letters and sending cards. I love receiving real mail too, so ... hint hint.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">69. I don't enjoy conflict or fighting, but I appreciate and value direct communication, even if it's uncomfortable. I just don't like when people get defensive or reactionary about it. I will always point out the elephant in the room, because I can't stand awkwardness or inauthenticity. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">70. I also can't stand passive aggressiveness. I don't like aggressive aggressiveness either though. Just be an adult about it! (Unless you're a kid. But even then, be an adult about it!)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">71. I often talk to my kids like they are my co-workers. I can't understand why they can't just be collaborative and work together more?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">72. I enjoy event planning. When I was a stay-at-home-mom, this was expressed in throwing killer birthday parties. As a professional, this looks like organizing creative fundraisers and special events. If I can include a theme too? Oh man. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">73. I'm a <a href="https://www.rotary.org/en" target="_blank">Rotarian</a>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">74. I serve on the board of the <a href="https://www.ar-silc.org/" target="_blank">Arkansas State Independent Living Council</a> as the board secretary.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">75. I love to deploy to disasters with the Red Cross. Being on the ground during a large scale disaster response and physically touching the mission is what keeps me going when the day-to-day going gets tough.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">76. I value honesty and compassion above pretty much all other values in life. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">77. I prefer everything to be clear and unambiguous. When ambiguity is inevitable, I do not like it. That makes 2020 a really tough year for me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">78. I have ten tattoos and ten piercings. I think it's ten for both... I haven't counted in a while.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">79. I have an affinity for cute shoes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">80. I live by my day planner. Not my digital Outlook calendar - my 18-month spiral-bound paper planner. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">81. I use color-coded erasable pens in my day planner, and I reward myself for accomplishments with stickers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">82. My birthday is April Fools Day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">83. I know it's cheesy, but I love Valentine's Day. It's kind of my favorite. I love all holidays really though. Any reason to celebrate and I'm on it. Shall we plan a themed party? I'll hit up Party City.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">84. I have Imposter Syndrome. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">85. I'm a bit of a hypochondriac.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">86. My favorite dessert (besides cake) is homemade banana pudding. I make it from scratch using my great-grandmother's recipe. I want some now. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">87. I also love pies. All pies. All Pies Matter.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">88. I was briefly in a fake band in college called Heart Union. We didn't actually play instruments or perform gigs, but we sold merch.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">89. I was briefly in a real band in college called Sharkie. I was briefly in a band in high school too called Oswald's Pool. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">90. I was a DJ on our college radio station, KXUA 88.3.</span></div>
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91. I like all of my dishes to match and put away in a very specific layout. However, I like all of my coffee mugs to be mismatched and different, so no one gets their cups mixed up. </div>
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92. My clothes are arranged by color in my closet. (Consonance!)</div>
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93. I make my bed *almost* every day when I get up. </div>
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94. I listen to NPR.</div>
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95. I don't believe in ghosts, but I kind of do.</div>
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96. I don't care how old I am, I love stuffed animals.</div>
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97. I like to problem solve.</div>
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98. I take my tea with milk, no sugar.</div>
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99. I love musicals. </div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">100. I love lists.</span></div>
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Lori Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05600443590399882818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5390111.post-47978454151306747232020-07-02T10:12:00.000-05:002020-07-02T10:31:53.731-05:00Jump Into July: Embrace the BudgetIn my last post, I talked about diving back into the <a href="http://www.loriarnoldmcfarlane.com/2020/06/jump-into-july-love-my-body-project.html" target="_blank">Love My Body Project</a>, but I've got several grandiose plans for July besides caring for (and loving) my body. I also desperately need to care for and love my bank account!<br />
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I thought quarantine life would do wonders for my budget. I'm getting, like, 3 weeks to the gallon in gas, I'm not eating out for lunch, and I'm not buying new work clothes. I figured I'd be swimming in spare cash.<br />
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I forgot about Amazon.<br />
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I didn't realize how many home improvement projects I'd suddenly be compelled to undertake.<br />
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And I certainly didn't factor in just how much food my kids would consume by being home 24/7.<br />
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I recently moved into a new home, and the move alone comes with costs. Neil also recently moved into a new place. Making two houses a home(s) can be costly. We've spent more than we really should have on decorating our new homes and making them perfect for our needs. I'll confess that I've used the fake money (credit card) more often than I should've, telling myself that Future Lori can deal with it.<br />
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Hello, I am Future Lori. And I'm dealing with it.<br />
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So part of my Jump Into July self-improvement plan is to Embrace the Budget. Of course it needed a title. I thought of several catchy project names - Balance the Bank, Curb the Cashflow, Manage My Money - but "Embrace the Budget" fit the best for what I'm trying to do. Rather than fight against the total of income vs expenses, I want to <i>embrace</i> what I have. I want to live within my means and learn to be happy with spending less and shopping more carefully.<br />
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Oddly enough, our topic of conversation in this morning's Women of Rotary Coffee Chat was smart shopping strategies, and they shared this quote:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4kKY2EoQ5E9CoJw3xIKMORgajeUwC_G4FRtXDtj4_hzs0754vGTiDTpMEn9-ATZfui9-jos0xDbgfYsfQegQnu3jEzSlVzuZxuPXdesoTmrw2kFvz8RNt9eDU1s6j74t29xl_/s1600/Vivienne+Westwood+quote.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1132" data-original-width="1600" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4kKY2EoQ5E9CoJw3xIKMORgajeUwC_G4FRtXDtj4_hzs0754vGTiDTpMEn9-ATZfui9-jos0xDbgfYsfQegQnu3jEzSlVzuZxuPXdesoTmrw2kFvz8RNt9eDU1s6j74t29xl_/s320/Vivienne+Westwood+quote.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Buy less, choose well, make it last. </span></i>- Vivienne Westwood</div>
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This is my goal. I have SO MUCH. I couldn't even fit all my clothes in my new closet; I sent all my winter clothes to Neil's house to keep in <i>his</i> closet for me. I have more books than I could ever read (and so many of them I <i>haven't</i> yet read, but they are on my forever-long reading list). I have all the things I need. There's likely very little on Amazon that I can't live without. The problem I have is that I'm a total SHOPAHOLIC.</div>
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I love to shop. LOVE IT.</div>
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Grocery shopping, clothes shopping, home improvement shopping, gift shopping, card shopping - hell, put me inside a tractor supply store, and I'll find all kinds of things I didn't know I needed. ("A chicken coop!! Let's buy a chicken coop and raise chickens!!")</div>
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It's an addiction, and it's not a healthy one. I truly do use retail as a therapy. If I feel down, I shop. I don't have to even be shopping for myself. I love shopping for other people too. I'll see some random object in a random shop and think, "Oh man, that would be perfect for Sally, that woman I met three weeks ago at the tractor supply store, and what a great way to keep in touch with her!" Giving gifts is one of my love languages, which is generous and all, but not exactly inexpensive.</div>
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I'm fairly good at budgeting. I've kept a personal budget for almost a decade, so my bills always get paid. I put money into savings every paycheck. I contribute to my 401k. On paper, Dave Ramsey would be proud. It's all the <i>other</i> things that I'm bad about. I have no impulse control when it comes to shopping. I have no concept of delayed gratification when it comes to <i>things.</i> I used to be good at keeping track of my grocery spending, but I've gotten lazy. I love comfort food and I love comfort things. So I buy them.</div>
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That's gotta staaahhp. </div>
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So, my Embrace the Budget goal for July is to not just stick to my budget, but be kind to my budget. I am lucky and blessed that I make enough money to cover my bills and groceries and still have some to spare. Having some leftover to spare doesn't have to mean leftover to spend. I'm tracking all my purchases in a notebook and totaling them all up by category. Anything that doesn't fall within an already budgeted category shouldn't get purchased. I've given myself a set budget for those extras, like getting takeout or buying my son's birthday presents, so it's not like I'm going to force myself to have no fun. I just won't be allowed to buy every book that gets reviewed on Fresh Air or a new dress every time I have a new event to attend. (I'm not attending events right now anyway! Coronavirus!)</div>
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It takes a month to form a habit. (Actually, I have no idea how many days it takes to make a habit.) If I can curb my cashflow, manage my money, and embrace my budget for the month of July, maybe I can do it in August too. And maybe I can do it again in September. I think it's possible! But it starts with baby steps, just like my health plan. A book was mentioned in the Rotary meeting this morning that I immediately looked up on Amazon. But I didn't buy it. I wanted to. I <i>really</i> wanted to. But I didn't. Because I have so many books to read already. I can live without it.</div>
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Just as I need to learn to love my body, I need to learn to embrace my budget. So bring it on, July! I can take it.</div>
Lori Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05600443590399882818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5390111.post-30850198583541924362020-06-30T09:26:00.001-05:002020-07-02T10:12:19.130-05:00Jump Into July: Love My Body Project<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQYAZxtbsmHll2Wtdnjk_gG7h3PxbbCKU4D9pgpzBEmsbf1T4_jeFppCg_1DCSmkoVul_ilmO1g03fmJwN1nstGv2ZPawxXR7kyhVZI6HknVEQBt1g64Ks4v7quYiL47phdyc5/s5184/I+Am+Beautiful.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQYAZxtbsmHll2Wtdnjk_gG7h3PxbbCKU4D9pgpzBEmsbf1T4_jeFppCg_1DCSmkoVul_ilmO1g03fmJwN1nstGv2ZPawxXR7kyhVZI6HknVEQBt1g64Ks4v7quYiL47phdyc5/w400-h266/I+Am+Beautiful.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
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While at the beach this weekend, I asked my husband to take some "pretty pictures" of me in my sundress because I was feeling cute and the sunrise was doing great things to my skin. I told him to take a picture of me that *I* would like, so get those angles right, buddy!<br />
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Here's what I got. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh44YTE_SEro2gKrWp1U3gQ_6TFckURfXkOuH-zESPRIn7Xf63UwX6PDiiM3vTOcakCTqPPeLF3dqEizU9S8g-ZZaRx5DNiGs3egX6Lfg1ZhZ0xrAcOMNBG4-T0UgtLVXF-LLDz/s1600/beach+pic.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh44YTE_SEro2gKrWp1U3gQ_6TFckURfXkOuH-zESPRIn7Xf63UwX6PDiiM3vTOcakCTqPPeLF3dqEizU9S8g-ZZaRx5DNiGs3egX6Lfg1ZhZ0xrAcOMNBG4-T0UgtLVXF-LLDz/s320/beach+pic.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Waveland, MS, June 2020</i></td></tr>
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After seeing this and a dozen other photos that looked roughly the same, I couldn't believe how ugly I looked. I asked for a PRETTY picture, man! His response was that these pictures were gorgeous and he loved this and that about them. All I could see was my fat arms, my protruding belly, my chubby cheeks, my flabby shoulders and my saggy boobs. What on earth was HE seeing? The pink clouds and the calm ocean in the background?</div>
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I've had a lifelong problem with my body image. (Surprise! I must be the only human on earth with this issue, right?) I've also had a lifelong issue with food. (Again, 100 points to me for being so unique, right?) I am either starving myself for days on end or gorging myself with goodies. Sometimes I eat healthy and sometimes (most times) I eat garbage. But delicious, tasty, mood-satisfying garbage!</div>
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Then I stare at my naked body in the mirror and loathe what I see. My husband can come behind me and see something totally opposite from what I see, and sometimes I believe him, sometimes I don't. I tell him he's biased. I tell him he's looking at me with rose-colored glasses because he loves me. Sometimes I can tell by the hunger in his eyes that he really DOES think I'm a legit snack, but honestly, what is wrong with his eyeballs?</div>
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More importantly - what is wrong with ME?</div>
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Why am I so obsessed with thinness? Why do I still, after all these years, have this belief that I'm supposed to be bone-thin and stretch-mark free to be beautiful? Indeed, there are beautiful women who are bone-thin and stretch-mark free. But there are also beautiful woman who are full-bodied and soft all around. In fact, I myself am really attracted to women with those sexy curves, just as much as to women who could model for Vogue. If I can see the beauty of others in a variety of bodies, why am I so mean to myself?</div>
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Let me also say for the record, that I'm not fishing for compliments here. I'm also not knocking any other body types. There will be people thinner than me that I don't want to insult and there will be people bigger than me that I don't want to insult. I genuinely look at other people and think how beautiful they all are, in every shape and size. I see beauty in so many other bodies. I just can't seem to apply the same principles to my own body. Again, I'm not unique in this; I'm willing to bet 90% or more of you readers (all 6 of you!) have the same issue. Please don't get mad at me if you are bigger or smaller than me for anything I say. Body image is such a sticky subject. It's hard to hit the right tone! I'm just speaking from my own perspective.</div>
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A few years ago, I started the <a href="http://www.loriarnoldmcfarlane.com/2014/07/love-my-body-project.html" target="_blank">Love My Body Project</a>. Along with some very practical disciplines like getting more exercise and eating better, every day I would stand in front of the mirror and tell myself "I am beautiful." I'd find some feature to praise, however small. And I'd repeat it over and over until I believed it. </div>
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This year has been, well, it's been 2020. What else can I say? I've been working from home for three and a half months. I started out wearing work clothes to keep myself in work mode but soon resorted to jeans and t-shirts. If I have a video conference, I might where a nicer shirt. Today, as I prepare for a day-long virtual meeting, I've put on a dressy blouse paired with shorts. Who's going to see my lower half anyway? </div>
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And makeup? What's makeup? Hair? Why, a dirty bun looks fine through a pixelated screen.<br />
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Plus, this working five steps from the kitchen hasn't been good either. I have LEGITIMATELY gained the COVID 15. Like, I weigh exactly 15 lbs more than I did in March when I left the office for the last time. When we do return to office life, I am afraid none of my work clothes will fit anymore. I've been reticent to try them on because the longer I don't know, the longer I can keep eating Spaghettios With Meatballs (mmm) for lunch without guilt. </div>
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So here's where I'm going with all of this.</div>
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It's time to kickstart the <a href="http://www.loriarnoldmcfarlane.com/search/label/Love%20My%20Body" target="_blank">Love My Body Project</a> again. It's time to take some practical steps to care for the body I'm in but also to love the body I'm in. I'm starting with a small goal of waking up early enough every day this week to walk at least a mile. Maybe I'll even run! But baby steps. Along with that goal, I would like to watch what I eat. I'm still working on what a food plan would look like, but the baby step is being more aware and deliberate about what and when I eat. The third part of that goal is to look at myself every day in the mirror and say "I am beautiful." And repeat it over and over. Not "my husband thinks I'm beautiful" or "my mom thinks I'm beautiful" but "I AM beautiful." </div>
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And in typical Lori fashion, every project I start has to have a name, so the Love My Body Project is just one step in my Jump Into July Project which also includes working on my financial health and my mental health, which I'll dive further into in the next couple of days.</div>
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(Getting back into writing, by the way, is part of my mental health improvement. I have missed writing so, so much.)</div>
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To kickstart July (though it's technically still June), I woke up this morning and took a walk. I walked 1.8 miles while listening to an audiobook. Granted, when I got home, I was really hungry and did NOT think deliberately before heating up a slice of leftover pizza for my breakfast. Baby steps, y'all! I'll do better at lunch. </div>
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Or maybe since it's still June, I'll finish off that last can of Spaghettios so it's not tempting me tomorrow on July 1st. </div>
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DON'T JUDGE.</div>
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Lori Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05600443590399882818noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5390111.post-8539953489789630312019-09-08T19:44:00.001-05:002019-09-08T19:47:11.864-05:00Take Me Back - A Letter to My Blog<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZXB3JsA6O_zwAjj0auCquTq-ZWPKXBUp1jkb225xgeNS8pWHUPKg4l7CIvc0XTTuSHRpishvG5M8ErV93GcGDqCWiLnZLU0NrJwqsbxbp1YQJyCyjc9vJg2B99ceq4lhqpeIR/s400/letters-2111533_1920.jpg" width="400" /></div>
<br />
<br />
Dear Blog,<br />
<br />
I don't know how to say this without being awkward, so I'm just going to say it.<br />
<br />
I want you back.<br />
<br />
See, I know I left you a year and a half ago for a <a href="http://lorilovecomma.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">new blog</a>. Me and the new blog tried to make it work, we really did, but the truth is, we just didn't have the chemistry you and I have. We didn't have the history. I couldn't be myself around it; I kept feeling like I had to perform for it and be something I'm not all the time. It wasn't the new blog's fault; it was me. It was all me. We just didn't feel right together, and the more I thought about it, the more I missed you.<br />
<br />
You and me, we could talk about anything. It didn't have to be important or meaningful or on any specific topic. We could just <i>talk.</i> It was pretty special what you and me had. Some days I'd want to dig deep into my heart and share intimate, emotional thoughts, and other days I just wanted to tell you about what I had for breakfast or about a weird dream I'd had. It was<i> fun</i> being with you. You made me enjoy writing, and every once in a while, between the breakfast and the dreams, I'd write something kind of great. But there was no pressure with you to be great all the time. I could just be me - sometimes deep and sometimes just plain silly.<br />
<br />
And the history we share! You've been there through everything that's happened in my life for the past sixteen years. You've seen me say some really obnoxious, pretentious stuff and also some pretty smart stuff. You've been there through all the messes - the typos, the sentence fragments, the split infinitives. You've also been there through all the triumphs and major life milestones and really good posts that made a difference to someone. You saw me get married, move to another country, have three kids, volunteer and start businesses, move back from that country, go back to work, get divorced, meet a new fella.<br />
<br />
Is it too late to ask for you back? Do you think we could be a thing again?<br />
<br />
Because I miss you, and I miss writing, and I think you're one of the big things I've been lacking in my life over the past year and half. I need you, and if you'll have me back, it'll be forever this time. I promise. What do you say? Will you take me back?<br />
<br />
Check yes or no.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV2iKXTmKoTlYjpieHucnrOmYsOP41oA7ZjgCyrCaWU4AwfsgYKk3n66iRRp8K09mop9xNjD8m4AItXWL6XwglHw0NFg6rQb6kYu_wPLWcYbJhrIFQb1tr99CvhWKM5NykTScC/s1600/yesorno.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="758" data-original-width="1600" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV2iKXTmKoTlYjpieHucnrOmYsOP41oA7ZjgCyrCaWU4AwfsgYKk3n66iRRp8K09mop9xNjD8m4AItXWL6XwglHw0NFg6rQb6kYu_wPLWcYbJhrIFQb1tr99CvhWKM5NykTScC/s400/yesorno.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i>Top image by <a href="https://pixabay.com/users/Bru-nO-1161770/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=2111533">Bruno Glätsch</a> from <a href="https://pixabay.com/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=2111533">Pixabay</a></i>Lori Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05600443590399882818noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5390111.post-65499174686381420152018-03-18T15:15:00.001-05:002018-03-18T15:15:25.681-05:00Packing Up and Saying Goodbye<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOp9OzEn2ZQ_1GNGans2O0eNwQWtMICbqWAT-BiPYjuFf7ZPu4oODp92g_mldIhAYqRZj0tzQi8BGqxGP8S5mBvRvAu0df8x_txda7uKeecAI1qgKSfJhkEo65JUmx_C7X1AAG/s1600/AdobeStock_4562598.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOp9OzEn2ZQ_1GNGans2O0eNwQWtMICbqWAT-BiPYjuFf7ZPu4oODp92g_mldIhAYqRZj0tzQi8BGqxGP8S5mBvRvAu0df8x_txda7uKeecAI1qgKSfJhkEo65JUmx_C7X1AAG/s320/AdobeStock_4562598.jpeg" width="320" /></a><b>Dear readers,</b><br />
<br />
For the past 15 years, I've been blogging in this space. In 2003, I started this blog, and that same year I started dating Scott, who became my husband in 2004. In 2017 we split up.<br />
<br />
This blog has chronicled that entire time together, from dating long distance to getting married to having our three children together to moving back to America to deciding to get divorced.<br />
<br />
For most of that time, this blog was titled "Scott and Lori". Even though I've changed the domain name, it still sort of feels like "our" blog. How could it not, which so much shared history right in these archives?<br />
<br />
Which explains a lot of why I've not been able to write here much for the past year. Too much of what I once would've written about is now not appropriate for this space. My personal life used to be shared with someone who was comfortable with me sharing it online. But now my personal life is shared in a different way with that person, and sharing it publicly is now a violation of his privacy.<br />
<br />
This decision has been a long time coming, but it feels like the right decision and the right time to pack up and close shop. I will keep the blog online. I will keep the domains active. But I won't be writing here anymore. I will likely start either an anonymous blog where I can write about things without violating the privacy of Scott or I may simply write for a couple of other blogs for a little while as a guest writer. Whatever I do, I can't stop writing. I've had writer's block for the past year due to the concern over writing about things that are no longer okay to share, and that's not okay to me. I love writing, and I need it.<br /><br />If you'd like to keep following me (I do have some great long-time faithful readers), please leave me a comment, and I will link you to my new writing places once I've determined where those will be.<br />
<br />
It's bittersweet to say goodbye to this blog, but it's time.<br /><br />So long, friends, and thanks for all the fish.<br />
<br />Love,<br />Lori<br />
<br />
<i>2003 - 2018</i>Lori Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05600443590399882818noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5390111.post-472748176272841562018-02-25T12:40:00.003-06:002018-03-18T14:51:50.080-05:00Life As I Now Know It™: A Year (or two) In the Life of a Single Working Mom<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0_lZMVC9eQSygEtKO7SDmYE39UpK3sXhL9kPUzzBM7pphULWY7s-m5oFqBdVJ53kIae3EnWSC6IokpM99Sw5LNfILSzG2SPNVRbIq2qbavFx4qRP0QrnK58zoHsFWUquJS5qw/s1600/AdobeStock_187167062.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0_lZMVC9eQSygEtKO7SDmYE39UpK3sXhL9kPUzzBM7pphULWY7s-m5oFqBdVJ53kIae3EnWSC6IokpM99Sw5LNfILSzG2SPNVRbIq2qbavFx4qRP0QrnK58zoHsFWUquJS5qw/s400/AdobeStock_187167062.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
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One of my <a href="http://www.loriarnoldmcfarlane.com/2017/12/40-questions-year-13-and-12.html" target="_blank">New Year's Resolutions for 2018</a> was to write at least 36 blog posts over the course of the year. (The number 36 is not as random as it appears; I'll be 36 this year, and approximately 3 posts a month just seemed like a reasonable number.) It's now late February and I'm off to a roaring start. I've posted a GRAND TOTAL of....<br />
<br />
One.<br />
<br />
I've been giving myself quite a hard time about this. Writing is my passion, second only to reading, and neither of these loves have gotten very much attention from me in the past year or two. I've recently become a fan of <a href="https://www.audible.com/" target="_blank">Audible</a>, which is allowing me to get a lot more "reading" in, and while part of me hates spending $15 a month on something entirely digital, I have used the subscription more than I ever expected. I spend a lot of time on the road between work travel and long-distance-boyfriend travel, so thanks to audiobooks, I've been able to keep up with my book club and have enjoyed a number of books on my list that I'd otherwise have never found time to read.<br />
<br />
<i>Disclaimer: Though it may sound like it, this post has not been sponsored by Audible. Though I'd absolutely take their money if they offered so...</i><br />
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But writing still remains something I cannot do while in the car on long trips.<i> </i>I often think of things I'd like to write about, but between work, kids and aforementioned long-distance boyfriend, I have a very hard time carving out the time I need to put thoughts into words.<br />
<br />
I was lamenting about this yesterday to The Boyfriend who is also a writer and somehow finds the time in his busy schedule to crank out <a href="http://godlessindixe.com/" target="_blank">intelligent blog posts </a>on a pretty regular basis. He reminded me that as chaotic as his life is, mine is outrageous. We began tracing backwards what my life has been like for the last year and a half or so, and he's right. My ability to find time or even headspace to write might be affected by the following series of events. I'm going to take you back to the last point in time where I actually managed to squeeze in some writing: the month and year I published <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Last-Petal-Falling-Memoir-ebook/dp/B010RZ624U" target="_blank">my book</a>. (It's on Amazon. Go buy it and read it. It is an amazing source of income for me, y'all. It brought in a <i>whopping</i> $45.76 last year! I AM LITERALLY PAID TO WRITE, GUYS. *Insert laughing-so-hard-you're-crying emoji*.)<br />
<br />
<b>July 2015</b><br />
I published my book that I'd been working on for a year and a half. Amidst trying to finalize the publishing process, I was applying for jobs. That same month, I began working at AFMC after having been out of the traditional work force for 7+ years.<br />
<br />
<b>July 2015 - Oct 2016</b><br />
I'll just throw the entire year in together as one lump sum time period, since it was a major year of transition from stay-at-home-mom to working mom. I had to relearn everything, from how to work in a professional setting again to how to feed my kids when I don't get home until after 6 every day. It was quite the year. And around July 2016 I applied for another job and went through a series of 4 intense interviews before taking my new job and setting into motion the gyroscope that would become Life As I Now Know It<span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">™</span>.<br />
<br />
<b>Oct 2016</b><br />
I began working for the <a href="http://redcross.org/" target="_blank">American Red Cross</a> as the regional communications director for all of Oklahoma and Arkansas on October 10th. Immediately I went from a (albeit very busy) 9-5 job to a round-the-clock on-call constantly-traveling one. I began traveling approximately 40% of the time, and this caused an excruciating strain on my marriage and brought on a number of things, which eventually brought everything to a head, leading to...<br />
<br />
<b>Nov 2016</b><br />
Scott and I started talking about divorce.<br />
<br />
<b>Jan 2017</b><br />
Scott moved out.<br />
<br />
(Meanwhile, back in December, my one communications staff member, who found himself in the awkward position of having to train his boss, quit for an amazing opportunity elsewhere, leaving me with two months experience and no team.)<br />
<br />
I was also still traveling a significant amount of time for my job, when...<br />
<br />
<b>Feb 2017</b><br />
The executive director in my home Red Cross chapter very suddenly retired due to illness. The chapter was two months away from its annual fundraiser, and as communications director it fell on me to help pull the event together in her absence. I decided to apply for the executive director position (it would certainly require less travel), so I didn't mind the extra work, but it meant that I was still doing my full time two-state communications job as well as a chapter executive job.<br />
<br />
<b>April 2017</b><br />
I was selected as the executive director. Then just about two weeks before the fundraiser, the previous executive director passed away suddenly. With this new development, we had to redesign a significant part of the fundraiser to address this sad, sudden change. Now, I was not only taking over from a woman who had retired after having been a pillar in this community, leading this chapter for over 22 years, I was now taking over after this woman's death. With the help of the Board of Directors and several volunteers and staff, we pulled off the fundraiser, and I officially started my new job.<br />
<br />
But there was still no new communications director, so I had to continue dual roles for a short while. At the end of April, I went to Jonesboro to help the Northeast Arkansas chapter with their <a href="http://www.loriarnoldmcfarlane.com/2017/04/northeast-arkansas-mega-blitz-home-fire.html" target="_blank">annual fundraiser</a>. While in Jonesboro, the tornadoes, storms and floods that later became known as the 2017 Spring Storms, began sweeping across Texas, Oklahoma, Arkansas, Missouri and Illinois, and I found myself in my first ever Level 4 Disaster Relief Operation (DRO). I'd only been with the Red Cross for six months.<br />
<br />
<b>May 2017</b><br />
I was deployed to Pocahontas, AR as the Public Affairs (PA) Lead where I spent a week covering media surrounding the massive flooding. Actually, I started out in Tulsa, OK, where we though the majority of the damage would be. After a day in Tulsa, I was sent to Pocahontas instead, where the actual major damage had occurred all the way up to St. Louis, MO. After that week, I came back to Little Rock to work in the headquarters. I was now trying to learn my new job as ED, cover my old job as communications director, train the new communications staff member I'd just hired, and help run the PA, as well as assist as Government Liaison, for a DRO. Oh, and I was still doing the almost full-time parenting thing, minus Thursdays and every other weekend.<br />
<br />
Oh, and I was informed at this time that I was also supposed to be well into planning for the Annual Board Meeting for June, an event I had <i>no</i> experience in and had just over a month to plan and execute.<br />
<br />
<b>June 2017</b><br />
I somehow pulled off the Annual Board Meeting. I began taking over board meetings too and working with my new officers and board members.<br />
<br />
<b>July 2017</b><br />
Scott officially got his own place, and the kids started going back and forth between houses every other week. It was quite an adjustment. (But it's been going well.) I began having more free time to myself, but also began absorbing more of <a href="http://www.loriarnoldmcfarlane.com/2018/01/ten-things-that-royally-suck-about.html" target="_blank">the reality of my new situation</a>.<br />
<br />
At work, I began vigorous planning for our next big event, <i><a href="http://soundthealarm.org/" target="_blank">Sound the Alarm</a>,</i> where nationally the Red Cross aimed to install over 100,000 smoke alarms in homes over a four week period. In my chapter, our goal was to install 1,000 alarms.<br />
<br />
<b>Aug 2017</b><br />
At the start of August (though technically it was the very tail end of July) I began dating the lovely, gorgeous, intelligent man who would eventually become The Boyfriend. Who, of all places, just happens to live in Mississippi. Thus I became entangled in a long-distance relationship.<br />
<br />
I also bought a car. (This becomes relevant in just a moment.)<br />
<br />
On August 17, Hurricane Harvey made landfall. I was still reeling from the Spring Storms and the Annual Meeting and trying to get a grasp on what all my new job entailed, and now, as an ED, I was responsible for deploying my part of what we call a DFRAP ("dif-rap"), a Disaster Fundraising Action Plan. I had three TV stations request our help in running a telethon to help raise money for hurricane victims. After a 14 hour day of non-stop televised telethoning, a truck slammed into me on the Arkansas River bridge on my way home (a hit and run, no less), nearly totaling my brand new car, on the night I was supposed to go see Ben Folds perform in Little Rock. For the next 6 weeks I drove around in a rental while my new car was in full-body surgery.<br />
<br />
Then on August 30, Hurricane Irma made landfall.<br />
<br />
<b>Sept 2017</b><br />
I was <a href="http://www.loriarnoldmcfarlane.com/2017/09/what-red-cross-stats-dont-show.html" target="_blank">deployed again, this time to Fort Meyers, FL</a>, where I spent almost two weeks. While I was in Florida, Hurricane Maria hit Puerto Rico.<br />
<br />
<i>Sound the Alarm</i> was mercifully postponed until the spring.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, of course, I was still dating said Mississippi boy, who at this point had started undergoing a major crisis of his own. We joked (wryly) that I was providing disaster relief everywhere I turned.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, of course, I still had three children back home who are terrified that I was going to get killed in a hurricane, even though the hurricane had already come through. (Of course, Maria <i>was</i> heading my way while in Florida ...)<br />
<br />
<b>Oct 2017</b><br />
The Las Vegas shooting occurred. The California wildfires raged. The trifecta of hurricanes continued to require an enormous amount of manpower. My chapter was practically empty with the number of staff and volunteers deployed all over the country providing disaster relief.<br />
<br />
But I returned from my Florida deployment and was ready to finally get back to learning my new job as ED. At this point, we had hired a new communications director, and I was officially <i>done</i> helping with that role.<br />
<br />
Then, on October 2, an announcement was made to my chapter - the <a href="http://www.thv11.com/news/local/red-cross-to-transfer-all-blood-donations-to-arkansas-blood-institute/482740195" target="_blank">Red Cross in my chapter jurisdiction would cease collecting blood</a> as of December 31st.<br />
<br />
The Red Cross had been collecting blood in central Arkansas for over 60 years. This was a massive change that affected everyone greatly, and as the "fearless leader" (please note the self-deprecating quotation marks) I got to be the ringleader for managing the media, the Board, and the employees concerns surrounding this astronomical change.<br />
<br />
<b>Nov - Dec 2017</b><br />
Things quieted down, to a degree. I began intense planning for the<a href="http://www.arkansasmatters.com/news/arkansas-today/red-cross-celebration-of-heroes-luncheon/985054383" target="_blank"> annual fundraiser that was already looming around the corner again</a>. <i>Sound the Alarm</i> was rescheduled for April. And in December, blood collection operations began coming to a close, and it was a very emotional experience. But for the most part, I got to breathe a little and enjoy a really lovely Christmas with my family.<br />
<br />
<b>Jan 2018</b><br />
It was a good thing I got a two month breather, because with the start of the new year came a new announcement. We received the news that within the next several months Arkansas and Oklahoma would split apart as a region, and Arkansas would be joining up with Missouri. This was yet another astronomical change. Meanwhile, fundraiser planning was still in full swing and <i>Sound the Alarm</i> planning was <i>supposed</i> to be in full swing.<br />
<br />
Oh, and things with Mississippi Boy got real over Christmas, and I introduced him to Scott and the kids in January. Major transitions at work. Major transitions at home. Transitions, transitions everywhere.<br />
<br />
<b>Feb 2018 - Present</b><br />
With blood collections handed over to <a href="http://arkbi.org/" target="_blank">Arkansas Blood Institute</a> (where I highly encourage central Arkansas folks to go to give blood now, though if you are in the northern part of the state or in most other parts of the country, you can still <a href="http://redcrossblood.org/" target="_blank">donate through Red Cross</a>), the question of what would happen to our building loomed over us. It was decided earlier this month, that we will remain in our building but everyone's offices will be relocated to a central area of the building instead of spread out as we had been. We are in the process of packing up our offices right now and moving them to new offices before the end of the month.<br />
<br />
That sounds like small potatoes in light of everything else, but it has been another <i>stressful </i>transition.<br />
<i><br /></i>
Meanwhile, the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/events/139124850139779/" target="_blank">Celebration of Heroes Luncheon</a> fundraiser is in two weeks. (Tickets still available! <a href="mailto:llahoma.jackson@redcross.org" target="_blank">Email us</a> if you want to attend and support the work and mission of the Red Cross!)<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, I am still working with our local team to organize the newly scheduled <i>Sound the Alarm</i> for April 28th. (We still need volunteers, so go<a href="http://soundthealarm.org/littlerock" target="_blank"> sign up</a>!)<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, we are in the thick of working out the imminent transition from the Oklahoma-Arkansas region to the Missouri-Arkansas region.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, I'm still getting calls constantly about what happened to blood collections.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, it is now the start of tornado season.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, I'm still dating this lovely man long-distance and parenting my three wild cherubs every other week, trying to find the perfect work-life balance that supposedly exists somewhere in the universe where full-time working single moms are still able to find time for romance and spending quality time with their children.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, the official divorce date for me and Scott is coming up in the very near future. (Scott, by the way, is the best ex a girl could ask for. He is a really great man, folks. But even in a divorce as amicable and agreeable as ours, divorce takes a lot of planning and it's stressful AF.)<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, amid planning the Heroes Lunch and <i>Sound the Alarm, </i>I also have my Annual Board Meeting looming in the not too distant future, and several week-long training sessions out of state, and then hurricane season is looming after that, and then next year's fundraiser is after that and then tornado season again after that and then ...<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
I guess what I'm trying to say is, if I don't get 36 posts cranked out this year, I should probably give myself a break about it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Lori Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05600443590399882818noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5390111.post-11054927536619941362018-01-05T08:14:00.000-06:002018-01-05T08:16:00.726-06:00Ten Things That Royally Suck About Being a Single ParentBack in the day, anytime the husband was out of town for a couple of days, I would lament dramatically about how hard being a "single parent" was. I would heap praise upon single mothers for their heroic efforts, as I swooned on the couch like a damsel in distress, hair in a messy bun, yesterday's makeup smeared across my eyes.<br />
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<br />
Then I became a single mother in real life, not just for a weekend, but for, like, forever indefinitely, and I realized there are way more things that suck about being a single parent than just feeling and looking tired all the time.<br />
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As my days go by, I discover more and more things that just <i>suck. </i>Some of these are specific to single parents; most can be shared by single folks regardless of parental status. But the following ten things are what I have found to be the suckiest parts of single motherhood. (I could also offer a money-back guarantee that Scott feels the exact same way about being a single dad, but there's been no money exchanged here, so just take my word for it.)<br />
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<b>Ten Things That Royally Suck About Being A Single Parent (or single whatever):</b><br />
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<b>1. Having to carry all your own groceries into the house.</b> SERIOUSLY. It's like twice as many trips to the car, and then you have to put it all away yourself too. There is, of course, the cutting-off-circulation-to your-wrists method by slipping 6 bags onto each arm and clutching the gallons of milk in your fists, but you then risk scratching the paint on your car by trying to close the trunk with arms full of swinging cans of mixed vegetables. Yes, you can recruit the kids to help, but suddenly they all find a bag of bread <i>sooooo heavy, Mom </i>and you just want to give up right then on the driveway in front of your neighbors and God and the city alderman who lives two doors down. (She throws great summer barbecues.)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXBG5aYdMOzd9tObHDP6mYMMVGgwqVCz0pdoJZWt3POhcTeRSGmOyECkQzETLyT5R5NQIe_cHVgdR7sLou2i0KPql6Grocy1CFmANuYBIMaKS0Lw3aqe2t7tarE6NQKwruAotk/s1600/AdobeStock_109175799.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1064" data-original-width="1600" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXBG5aYdMOzd9tObHDP6mYMMVGgwqVCz0pdoJZWt3POhcTeRSGmOyECkQzETLyT5R5NQIe_cHVgdR7sLou2i0KPql6Grocy1CFmANuYBIMaKS0Lw3aqe2t7tarE6NQKwruAotk/s400/AdobeStock_109175799.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I use the cut-off-circulation method every time.</td></tr>
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<b>2. Not having someone to make a quick run to the store whilst you're cooking when you realize you're missing an ingredient.</b> You know, you think you have everything you need, so you start stirring the pot on the stove and shoving food in the oven when you realize, "Aw crap, I'm out of ketchup!" But there's a half-ready dinner cooking, and with no one to run to the nearest supermarket to grab a bottle of ketchup for you, your dinner is ruined and the kids refuse to eat it.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I always run out of eggs.</td></tr>
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<b>3. Having no one to call to when you're in the bathroom and out of toilet paper. </b>Y'all <i>know</i> what I'm talking about - you've had a satisfying few moments of silence, until you realize you're out of TP. So you do the awkward shake off then commence the pants-around-your-ankles waddle to the toilet paper closet and back. (Does everyone else have a toilet paper closet?) Anyway, I've called on the kids once or twice when they were within earshot, but I'm trying to train them to <i>leave me alone</i> in the bathroom, not join me there. Inviting them in to hand me a roll of toilet paper is as counterproductive as inviting them to sit across from me on a stool and tell me again all about their favorite YouTuber.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDonErnfHjWFbcIDYgmW6xgpPzLby4pBNW1AWp6R9N_yFThu6Axnt-WQjkKzV_2luysJLjecuH81Us01FrGyxiXrvdXSTVycYId_tJJZ0LgPbXUFXgLw7TOt_gbaGVMdaono6W/s1600/basic-1239213_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1057" data-original-width="1600" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDonErnfHjWFbcIDYgmW6xgpPzLby4pBNW1AWp6R9N_yFThu6Axnt-WQjkKzV_2luysJLjecuH81Us01FrGyxiXrvdXSTVycYId_tJJZ0LgPbXUFXgLw7TOt_gbaGVMdaono6W/s400/basic-1239213_1920.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ah crap.</td></tr>
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<b>4. Similarly, having no one to call to when you're in the shower and forget to get a towel. </b>I hate the feel of sopping foot prints on my bathmat, but when you forget the towel, you've got to drip drip drip all the way to the towel closet (surely you all have one of those) and all the way back. Then the bottoms of your feet get all covered in fluff and hair and tiny bits of paper that didn't exist until that very moment, and you will need another shower again to rinse off all the filth. And then you'll have to vacuum your carpets right after that because you had no idea they were so disgusting.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYS6KkXdcBy6jMHBItRahrw5o9NbOaoCN78eNweeheasLesC9McXGEZ1wmS06VH_XDpWGTWIbLjaY6TIjfrzH9bX6cmtF8OP03vcVIcv6yF0QZ3jUSf3UGrOMLbmctxe1czRe5/s1600/steinar-engeland-100576.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYS6KkXdcBy6jMHBItRahrw5o9NbOaoCN78eNweeheasLesC9McXGEZ1wmS06VH_XDpWGTWIbLjaY6TIjfrzH9bX6cmtF8OP03vcVIcv6yF0QZ3jUSf3UGrOMLbmctxe1czRe5/s400/steinar-engeland-100576.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Is there anybody out there?</span></td></tr>
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<b>5. The sole responsibility is on you to remember to drip the faucets when it's cold outside. </b>Okay, this one's personal. But I came home from work yesterday to burst water pipes, and it was all my fault for forgetting to drip the taps just that once. <i>The adulting is too much.</i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Actual footage of my basement ceiling.</td></tr>
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<b>6. Flying solo when the kids are absolutely doing your head in.</b> Let's get to the real parental brass tacks here. When there are two sane adults in the house, one of you is allowed to sometimes succumb to the overwhelming insanity and retreat, while the less perturbed one rallies the troops. But when you're the only adult around, there's no one to pass the buck to. You just have to keep on truckin', and try not to Hulk smash anything.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And it's only 8am, honey.</td></tr>
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<b><br />7. Having no one to pick up the slack when you're sick.</b> I remember last Valentine's Day being surrounded by puking children and feeling pukey myself. While I was lying bed in the middle of the night, trying not to move a single muscle to keep my stomach still, I heard a kid hurl all over the bedroom carpet. I had to soothe a crying child, mop up puke, and suppress my own heaves. It was god-awful. Then there's the times I get a migraine, and even the slightest noise or light makes me crazy. It's those times when the kids decide a mangled Pokemon card is worth fighting to the death over. And don't get me started on what it's like the week before I start my period.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx65FkJLydKvtXNC-rEQT8Tl1l-wTibUEKNt5oUq-KrrE_gxmYN8NooxdTanxiaEyrWV96Opv9lwBrkN0dqDSvujSe59GlQtL_UfL79svyInYidk7f4Cjv2Vact9WYDW1OYbF4/s1600/upset-2681502_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx65FkJLydKvtXNC-rEQT8Tl1l-wTibUEKNt5oUq-KrrE_gxmYN8NooxdTanxiaEyrWV96Opv9lwBrkN0dqDSvujSe59GlQtL_UfL79svyInYidk7f4Cjv2Vact9WYDW1OYbF4/s400/upset-2681502_1920.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I just can't even.</td></tr>
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<b>8. Trying to juggle school nights all on your own. </b>Homework, dinner, cleaning up, bath time, bedtime, kill-me-now. I may pretend to be supermom, but after a full day of work and getting home at 5:30 - 6pm, trying to assist three children to varying degrees with homework, whilst cooking dinner and running a load of dishes and throwing in a load of laundry all before bath and bedtime - after all of that, I feel like <i>the worst mum ever.</i> Plus, my fifth grader's math homework makes me feel like an idiot.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9g5ewUgItqRZVkhsjAm6esP-jnuwDoYF_5b7tu-iojeBCT90AbZVxlge60OOtcZJ4J28kecClzTSwgid38krahMsBmXcLgnutijsnclQGdYvigNC74IwGQUWMcWzA5XCokYGm/s1600/homework-1815899_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1283" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9g5ewUgItqRZVkhsjAm6esP-jnuwDoYF_5b7tu-iojeBCT90AbZVxlge60OOtcZJ4J28kecClzTSwgid38krahMsBmXcLgnutijsnclQGdYvigNC74IwGQUWMcWzA5XCokYGm/s400/homework-1815899_1920.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You and me both, kid.</td></tr>
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<b>9. Having no one to unwind and be an adult with at the end of the day</b>. After all the hard work is over and the kids are tucked peacefully into their beds, you look around and it's just you. There's no other adult to plop on the couch next to and share a glass of wine with. No one to just look at and laugh off the ridiculousness of your evening with. No adult to vent to about the walls your toddler Sharpied today or that woman at work who drives you crazy. No one to cuddle with while you unwind to an episode of <i>Walking Dead</i> (or <i>The Bachelor</i>, whatever floats your boat). No, it's just you. Some days that's perfect. On other days, it sucks.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8agwYYLRULAMw7CGQuJ5r2DNtyX9E4-V6NtaSR0kahwc6Jlq6p-f6NDF02YcqIH4wqHm6tPKMclfK4o_08tpT4aiyDyP9VLC5_TARp2oa1IkenGT3VxQlGUAcNnAQm94f3Ffz/s1600/cake-2597040_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1066" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8agwYYLRULAMw7CGQuJ5r2DNtyX9E4-V6NtaSR0kahwc6Jlq6p-f6NDF02YcqIH4wqHm6tPKMclfK4o_08tpT4aiyDyP9VLC5_TARp2oa1IkenGT3VxQlGUAcNnAQm94f3Ffz/s400/cake-2597040_1920.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Guess I'll just eat this whole cake myself.<br />
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<b>10. Feeling overwhelmed when the kids are there and feeling lonely when they're not.</b> Though having the kids 24/7 is overwhelming and at times maddening, when they are at their dad's house, everything feels so empty. My house is just too quiet. I enjoy it the first night, don't get me wrong. I then get a little restless the second night. After a few nights, I start thinking about all their sweet qualities: their hugs and kisses, their funny sayings, their bright eyes, their peaceful faces while sleeping. And I start to miss them, like, in the tenderest part of my heart. I miss them so much, it hurts. It really sucks. Royally.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPGnj0SbBzNd3P3bWjAFFk0WUZKkwGWAoFmns6bmU-44gRS8dEq_goHOGknnPkP_JY8GA_1qEluOKcQ-d7enF9wYHbW1E1h_pCURFc-7BQIkbqx28dUr29wAmlQD6H47n6jwdi/s1600/jad-limcaco-256487.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1036" data-original-width="1600" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPGnj0SbBzNd3P3bWjAFFk0WUZKkwGWAoFmns6bmU-44gRS8dEq_goHOGknnPkP_JY8GA_1qEluOKcQ-d7enF9wYHbW1E1h_pCURFc-7BQIkbqx28dUr29wAmlQD6H47n6jwdi/s400/jad-limcaco-256487.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I even miss their incessant, unintelligible chatter.</td></tr>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Image Sources: <a href="https://unsplash.com/" target="_blank">Unsplash</a> / <a href="https://pixabay.com/" target="_blank">Pixabay</a> / <a href="https://stock.adobe.com/" target="_blank">Adobe Stock</a></span></i>Lori Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05600443590399882818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5390111.post-16986715214053718862017-12-31T11:03:00.001-06:002017-12-31T11:49:29.105-06:0040 Questions - Year 13 (and 12)<div style="text-align: center;">
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiibiNv7TNlUwbJf65M3JBQHpOOeDs7mpv0DhM9KCVQzUhdrIwK6BlRSRQNtwRCiucmxysA5rW_Qy3IVD-itzviCxq6HAZKK1p1PgE1An_4KpHRL7FKq7Kf9WQaRwpRPWF8nLfq/s1600/AdobeStock_95797045.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiibiNv7TNlUwbJf65M3JBQHpOOeDs7mpv0DhM9KCVQzUhdrIwK6BlRSRQNtwRCiucmxysA5rW_Qy3IVD-itzviCxq6HAZKK1p1PgE1An_4KpHRL7FKq7Kf9WQaRwpRPWF8nLfq/s400/AdobeStock_95797045.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><i>Image source: <a href="http://stock.adobe.com/" target="_blank">Adobe Stock</a></i></td></tr>
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<br />
2016 was the kind of a year I did not want to talk about. While I'd been answering these 40 questions for eleven years straight, last year I couldn't bring myself to do this. I started, but didn't get very far, and ended up leaving it in draft form for the entire year. I just wasn't ready at this point last year to talk about my pending divorce or all the crappiness that surrounded 2016.</div>
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This year though has been such a transformative year that I really want to go ahead and give this another bash. I don't know how many more years I'll want to answer these same questions, but it's been a really fun way to document each year of the past decade or so, so here we go. The year 2017 - the year everything changed.</div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">1. What did you do in 2017 that you’d never done before?</span></div>
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This summer <a href="http://www.loriarnoldmcfarlane.com/2017/08/the-awesome-stuff-ive-done-so-far-in_6.html" target="_blank">I went backpacking</a> for the first time. I never thought I was the outdoorsy type, aside from enjoying a good camping weekend. But I fell in love with the idea of backpacking, and after that first trip, I became hooked. It was an amazing experience, and now I look for every opportunity to get out with my backpack as much as possible.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Backpacking with David (and sort of Allen)</td></tr>
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I also <a href="http://www.loriarnoldmcfarlane.com/2017/08/the-awesome-stuff-ive-done-so-far-in.html" target="_blank">completed a half-marathon</a>.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNN2-gqIz-ga85kYTOnoolStjCgYX90ttHoRsDozWlsVOweNeW7ugMgMcw7Bf4V8sspf0qtzm2jcn0f-UBpXWFUSgrH1iRWE05oEu_swlL3jRS8TIuTU6OS7vOTggs0hrA7y9z/s1600/LRmarathon2017_3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1065" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNN2-gqIz-ga85kYTOnoolStjCgYX90ttHoRsDozWlsVOweNeW7ugMgMcw7Bf4V8sspf0qtzm2jcn0f-UBpXWFUSgrH1iRWE05oEu_swlL3jRS8TIuTU6OS7vOTggs0hrA7y9z/s400/LRmarathon2017_3.jpg" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Running for the photographers.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<br /></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
I joined the Rotary Club.</div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
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</div>
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I got my first COLOR tattoo.</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRBNmaHIqPJgXo9UfrMHSFSjuDaObJFNQ6cZ7B2LZMOraSYSO3L8uL1vEoJytIK91EFTpwMbHmNZYZW8Wv1mM3PUFsuFaKg73zQ_vyxKWc50E29CCP95FQH6aJIjhgv2HPCxjf/s1600/IMG_6599.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRBNmaHIqPJgXo9UfrMHSFSjuDaObJFNQ6cZ7B2LZMOraSYSO3L8uL1vEoJytIK91EFTpwMbHmNZYZW8Wv1mM3PUFsuFaKg73zQ_vyxKWc50E29CCP95FQH6aJIjhgv2HPCxjf/s400/IMG_6599.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My "unicone" tattoo for Lolly.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
But quite possibly the most AMAZING thing I did in 2017 that I'd never done before was see <a href="http://www.loriarnoldmcfarlane.com/2017/01/lost-in-just-living-tripping-daisy.html" target="_blank">Tripping Daisy live in concert!</a> Tripping Daisy was my favorite band in high school, and I never got to see them live before they broke up. Until May. It was out of this world. I got <a href="https://genius.com/Tripping-daisy-field-day-jitters-lyrics" target="_blank">lost in just living</a>.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoqbEqztg5Q3fWTUsy5LFBeqpPCuk_XEHtMPX2m7j_PI1k_ibniOLLZdYFB_hunjdZgk9KM-26kfKjyaTpwMe1VDohOrz62kmYqdEl3GV5A2n7AR0H2XqHRWMZcYo_-mHlqzFj/s1600/IMG_3815.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoqbEqztg5Q3fWTUsy5LFBeqpPCuk_XEHtMPX2m7j_PI1k_ibniOLLZdYFB_hunjdZgk9KM-26kfKjyaTpwMe1VDohOrz62kmYqdEl3GV5A2n7AR0H2XqHRWMZcYo_-mHlqzFj/s400/IMG_3815.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blown away.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">2. Did you keep your New Years’ resolutions and will you make more for next year?</span></div>
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My New Year's resolution last year was simply to survive. And I did. So there.</div>
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This year, rather than a resolution <i>per se</i> I've been compiling a Bucket List/To Do list. On this list I'd like to accomplish or do the following fifteen things in 2018:</div>
</div>
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1. Save [undisclosed amount of money].</div>
</div>
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2. Get more involved in the community by joining a board.</div>
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3. Read 12 books (a book a month).</div>
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4. Visit a new city.</div>
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5. Visit the beach.</div>
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6. Finally put <i>Meatloaf & a Rosary</i> (my book of poetry) into print.</div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
7. Send 36 letters/cards/parcels to various friends and relatives. (I'll be 36 this year.)</div>
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8. Publish at least 36 blog posts.</div>
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9. Take kids on a trip or vacation.</div>
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10. Lose 15-20 pounds. (Starting keto on Jan 2!)</div>
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11. [Unspoken Bucket List Item] - like an Unspoken Prayer Request only cheekier.</div>
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12. Spend the night in a haunted hotel.</div>
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13. Practice a couple "no spend" months.</div>
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14. Run another race (maybe a 10k instead of half marathon this time).</div>
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15. Volunteer my time for a new organization.</div>
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Some of these aren't traditional "bucket list" items, in that they may not be things I've <i>never</i> done before, but they're things I'd like to do next year. Generic resolution-wise though, I just want to spend less money, lose some weight, and make the most of this new year.</div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">3. Did anyone close to you give birth?</span></div>
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My friend Kate from book club had a baby, but I'm such a bad friend, I can't remember if it was 2017 or 2016. He's still pretty little though so I'm going to guess 2017. My sis-in-law Rebekkah is due a baby in January 2018, though, and I'm super excited to meet the next mini McFarlane!</div>
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It occurred to me last year while trying to answer these questions that I'm starting to get to an age where this isn't going to be so prevalent anymore. Most of my friends are nearing the end of our childbearing years. Oh my god that means I'm getting old.</div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">4. Did anyone close to you die?</span></div>
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Last year (in my attempt to answer these questions): Oh, you mean besides every icon of childhood imaginable? No.</div>
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Ha! Yeah, 2016 was brutal. This year, the only funeral I attended was for our Red Cross chapter's previous executive director (my predecessor) <a href="http://www.littlerockfuneralhome.com/obituaries/Candace-Carey/#!/Obituary" target="_blank">Candy Carey</a>. She passed away in April quite unexpectedly, and that was hard for everyone. She'd been the ED in this area for 20-something years.</div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">5. </span><strong>What places did you visit?</strong></div>
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I feel like I'm trying to cover two years here. In 2016, I went to Tacoma, New Orleans, Denver and several places in Oklahoma. In 2017, I went to Dallas to see Tripping Daisy, Washington DC for Red Cross training, Ft Myers, FL, to respond to Hurricane Irma, and I've spent a significant amount of time in Mississippi (more on that later).<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp2p3bnt3tPEi63N54N1ZSFqfUxA49lpaNXgdgeDPK1miT_WEOuBCKAOy4sUwmORHuFTKIAEbqhlb2dR2MspH9h3tx_HRcvCtAFpmUei8H6C5yphfTtNjWyZYWb5tKWQrC-OO4/s1600/IMG_0810+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp2p3bnt3tPEi63N54N1ZSFqfUxA49lpaNXgdgeDPK1miT_WEOuBCKAOy4sUwmORHuFTKIAEbqhlb2dR2MspH9h3tx_HRcvCtAFpmUei8H6C5yphfTtNjWyZYWb5tKWQrC-OO4/s400/IMG_0810+%25282%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A crappy shot of Bourbon Street.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinlxmDtBpnNUw3Psl76Zern2rKjXAV9vicYfYzjK5QnOq6pB7e-pIzm805GCmew75wEfwG15nos0BHloKxn-zjfxULFOzP-hz_JzBzFxtULuoZFuwRWFldUvMx65fLJ57gWraQ/s400/IMG_3817.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tripping Daisy in Dallas</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinlxmDtBpnNUw3Psl76Zern2rKjXAV9vicYfYzjK5QnOq6pB7e-pIzm805GCmew75wEfwG15nos0BHloKxn-zjfxULFOzP-hz_JzBzFxtULuoZFuwRWFldUvMx65fLJ57gWraQ/s1600/IMG_3817.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinlxmDtBpnNUw3Psl76Zern2rKjXAV9vicYfYzjK5QnOq6pB7e-pIzm805GCmew75wEfwG15nos0BHloKxn-zjfxULFOzP-hz_JzBzFxtULuoZFuwRWFldUvMx65fLJ57gWraQ/s1600/IMG_3817.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>6. What would you like to have in 2018 that you lacked in 2017?</b></div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
Well, in 2015, I said I wanted balance. Moving into 2017, I needed that in so many more ways than I realized then. I needed work/life balance, me/others balance, and mental/emotional balance. And I think I achieved that for the most part in 2017.</div>
</div>
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What I lacked in 2017 though was a forward plan. My goal this year was just to survive as a newly single woman and single mom. What I need next year is to figure out my next steps. I don't need to just survive in 2018 - I need to thrive.</div>
</div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">7. What date from 2016/2017 will remain etched upon your memory?</span></div>
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I give in- I'm answering for two years from now on.</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
Oct 10, 2016 is when I started my new job as Communications Director for the Red Cross. That was life changing (in more ways than one). However, April 24, 2017 is the day I became the Executive Director for my Red Cross chapter. So that was a big deal, also life changing.</div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
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But January 28, 2017 will forever be remembered as one of the hardest of my life. It's the day Scott officially moved out. That brings tears to my eyes even right now as I write it.</div>
</div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?</span></div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
2016: New job.</div>
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2017: New job.</div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">9. What was your biggest failure?</span></div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
2016: (And I quote the draft from last year that I never published:) Everything. (Aw, Last Year Me, that's not true!)</div>
</div>
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2017: Let's be honest - what I was referring to previously was the failure to keep my marriage together. And I guess in practical terms, that's probably the most obvious answer to this question. But is moving on and making a decision that is ultimately better for both of us a failure, or has it been a success that we have remained such good friends and such good co-parents to our wee ones? I think it's all in how you look at it. Getting divorced is one of the ultimate "failures" in our society. But maybe that's the wrong way of looking at it. Maybe we've succeeded in adulting.</div>
</div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">10. Did you suffer illness or injury?</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
I don't recall any visits to the ER, so I'm going to say no. I was in a car accident in August '17, but the injuries were minor.</div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">11. What was the best thing you bought?</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
I bought a new car (which has been hit now twice, so it might actually be cursed) and most recently I bought a self-cleaning cat litter box. Which I'm thinking might have been the best thing I've bought my whole entire life.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjau6C0So8P4qSsF26cNUWZff7Zkx-Tp6uQR4GOe8LL2m7GqTyebdRS3BKfRG18vEFbql6VIr4bh8ncZiWOkRfh9SQgShApj8u35Xl5WHxAz4wMrQ1AQmZOVL5bAZKkbICOtzO/s1600/20170810_161344.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjau6C0So8P4qSsF26cNUWZff7Zkx-Tp6uQR4GOe8LL2m7GqTyebdRS3BKfRG18vEFbql6VIr4bh8ncZiWOkRfh9SQgShApj8u35Xl5WHxAz4wMrQ1AQmZOVL5bAZKkbICOtzO/s400/20170810_161344.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">New car/ old car</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: start;">
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-weight: bold;">12. Whose behavior merited celebration?</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
2016: I wrote, "I thought Bernie Sanders did pretty well this year."</div>
</div>
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</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
2017: My kids. They have been stars throughout this whole huge life transition. Their lives have been utterly turned upside down, yet they have been the most awesome, resilient and optimistic humans I know. I am so grateful to Scott for joining me in creating a united front and an environment for them that has allowed them to work through this mess in their own way. They are the real superstars this year.</div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-weight: bold;">13. What regrets do you have about the past year?</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Well... I mean, yes, I regret that my marriage did not last. But positive things have come of it. So beyond that, I'd say it's been a year of learning, healing, growing and reflecting. I could focus on regrets, but I just don't want to. Regrets get us nowhere.</div>
</div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">14. Where did most of your money go?</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Books. Clothes. Petrol. (Petrol because I drove to Mississippi a lot this year. And that's because...)</div>
</div>
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</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-weight: bold;">15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
I started dating someone this summer that has pretty much stolen my heart. He lives in Mississippi though, which really, really, really sucks, but from the very earliest days we both couldn't help but feel the distance was (and still is) worth it. And I'm really, really, really excited about this new person in my life. This relationship was unexpected and unsoughtafter but has been a very joyful and meaningful turn of events for me. I'm immensely happy.</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKmevF2zwvjw2uBKGSeyao7JIiYTgK_fV5ahJ4b3bJIOK08t5ETXM3FyINzqVtkga6CKZgwdOK30j2aTWQ14AX8RSq8CqPyCztlFhvw6kBFqXU-ToHL_pLaFcEmOljSkrfZ-Cq/s1600/IMG_7882.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKmevF2zwvjw2uBKGSeyao7JIiYTgK_fV5ahJ4b3bJIOK08t5ETXM3FyINzqVtkga6CKZgwdOK30j2aTWQ14AX8RSq8CqPyCztlFhvw6kBFqXU-ToHL_pLaFcEmOljSkrfZ-Cq/s400/IMG_7882.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">The Boyfriend</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-weight: bold;">16. What song/album will always remind you of 2016/2017?</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
2016: <i><a href="http://hamiltonmusical.com/new-york/" target="_blank">Hamilton</a></i> the Broadway musical and <i><a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Hamilton-Mixtape-Explicit/dp/B01JR0QYGW/ref=sr_1_cc_1?s=aps&ie=UTF8&qid=1514738764&sr=1-1-catcorr&keywords=hamilton+mixtape+cd" target="_blank">The Hamilton Mixtape</a>.</i></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
2017: Band of Horses <i><a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Why-Are-You-Band-Horses/dp/B01EYXWQ8W/ref=sr_1_1?s=music&ie=UTF8&qid=1514738815&sr=1-1&keywords=why+are+you+ok+band+of+horses" target="_blank">Why Are You Ok</a> </i>album.</div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">17. Compared to this time last year, are you:</span></div>
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<div style="text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
2016 (and I quote:)</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>happier or sadder?</i> Sadder. I am hating these questions this year.</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>thinner or fatter?</i> The tiniest bit thinner.</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>richer or poorer?</i> Richer, which is nice.</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
2017:</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>happier or sadder?</i> Sadder at the start of the year. Happier at the end.</div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>thinner or fatter?</i> So much fatter. *weeps*</div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>richer or poorer?</i> Poorer, way poorer after dropping down to a single income. Ouch. But doing fine regardless.</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-weight: bold;">18. What do you wish you’d done more of?</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Writing and reading, both years. Backpacking/camping (two of my trips got cancelled this year, meaning I didn't get to do nearly as much as I wanted). Nor did I exercise as much as I wanted to (and needed to). But that's life!</div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">19. What do you wish you’d done less of?</span></div>
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<div style="text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
This year has been so busy that I have no idea what I could've actually cut out. There was really no time for doing anything that I wish I'd done less of!</div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">20. How did you spend Christmas?</span></div>
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<div style="text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
In 2016, I spent Christmas with my family as always. It was an emotional Christmas for me and Scott especially, but we spent it together.</div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
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</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTqq1qpSQ0qvsr0MODzgbdX88w-F5Xqqfqb3UGMA_VCfMvv_0Tbb3Ck8s_pbzzoIBK2DFMiKZj4qQGCg7BVY_DhWBSxoMUfUQ0UutOPmsdF5KszFZ0MJMGb4wKciIWkhh-YREg/s1600/IMG_2202.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTqq1qpSQ0qvsr0MODzgbdX88w-F5Xqqfqb3UGMA_VCfMvv_0Tbb3Ck8s_pbzzoIBK2DFMiKZj4qQGCg7BVY_DhWBSxoMUfUQ0UutOPmsdF5KszFZ0MJMGb4wKciIWkhh-YREg/s400/IMG_2202.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christmas 2016</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
We decided early on that for the time being, we would continue to spend holidays together as a nuclear family, so in 2017, I spent Christmas with my family same as before. Only this year, Scott came over to my house early on Christmas morning for kids to open the presents I got them. Then we went to his house to open his presents. That afternoon we all went to my dad's to celebrate with them. This past Saturday before Christmas, we also all spent the day with my mom for an early Christmas celebration. Scott and I are still a family. Just a different kind of family.<br />
<br />
(I didn't think to get a picture of all three kids together this year - I barely took any pictures at all - but because my kids are hella cute:)<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJLSf_9zL8LK588QFs49qdRRqBYDjXULfNa2HSsZt5Ni3i70JmdIgJZ5OzzSDYMyPmqFpHnSDMWbj1ylDEXf0yP3e9D-jZAKzEVPfe7LKcg0_Tom8Zbc-q5oB0JsckiPtiHBxk/s1600/IMG_7802.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJLSf_9zL8LK588QFs49qdRRqBYDjXULfNa2HSsZt5Ni3i70JmdIgJZ5OzzSDYMyPmqFpHnSDMWbj1ylDEXf0yP3e9D-jZAKzEVPfe7LKcg0_Tom8Zbc-q5oB0JsckiPtiHBxk/s400/IMG_7802.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jaguar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwr0MpRgBIbbPXao3oCldPw3DD1h1maCtBkA3RV89l9HBK4eMdcOPCqIoD9CFTUmKUfdfuanTouG3oDDtVyr7qxS7apSQhDt5XJTl5dS47i-2poDT_4JdttUn-1Urk9s_ZZj1I/s1600/IMG_7803.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwr0MpRgBIbbPXao3oCldPw3DD1h1maCtBkA3RV89l9HBK4eMdcOPCqIoD9CFTUmKUfdfuanTouG3oDDtVyr7qxS7apSQhDt5XJTl5dS47i-2poDT_4JdttUn-1Urk9s_ZZj1I/s320/IMG_7803.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lolly</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPhLTDX0wmHhrhVcfQA4dbzwOpCEQyhvbHPFjkkoyrCtncfaI5gul-sy6raC4onVUEv0QzUkXgKqw1zfhFC1OGc9opRC0zskGaiiZmncqbqHoruwB9U7nfl4wvTTww0oN39j1t/s1600/IMG_7806.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPhLTDX0wmHhrhVcfQA4dbzwOpCEQyhvbHPFjkkoyrCtncfaI5gul-sy6raC4onVUEv0QzUkXgKqw1zfhFC1OGc9opRC0zskGaiiZmncqbqHoruwB9U7nfl4wvTTww0oN39j1t/s320/IMG_7806.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fifi</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-weight: bold;">21. Who did you spend the most time on the phone with?</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Hmm, it's a toss up. On the weeks when the kids are at Scott's house, I talk to the kids on the phone every night at 7pm. (And he talks to them every night that I have them.) But those are short conversations where they are mostly distracted with whatever toy they are currently playing or fighting over, so as far as hours accrued, I probably spent the most time on the phone with The Mississippi Boyfriend.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
Another contender for most time on the phone is one of my colleagues whom I tend to call while on long drives for travel. And earlier in the year I spent a lot of time on the phone with Heather from Scotland. It's hard to say who I've spent the most time on the phone with! But it's probably The Boyfriend (who does have a name by the way).</div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">22. What's your best memory from 2016/2017?</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
I'm having a hard time thinking about this one. Lots of good little moments but one "best" memory from either year is alluding me. Definitely my backpacking trips and the moment I ran across the finish line of the half marathon were big. <a href="http://www.loriarnoldmcfarlane.com/2017/09/what-red-cross-stats-dont-show.html" target="_blank">Deploying to Florida for Hurricane Irma relief</a> was big. There was the night I took the three kids to the KARK TV station to finish the telethon that raised money for flooding in Pocahontas, AR, and they got to meet the governor and first lady of Arkansas. But surely the biggest one was seeing Tripping Daisy live. That was almost two decades in waiting. (Have I mentioned yet how awesome that was?)<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNX0-GhahAd33yt5XpKRvKipC_NNUX6JPN1I_BOPJfD-WZCuM1Q9v6GH6-_CGcxjGOe4Fw5R0aNxKjWo_G5Q0t_twBEgbEKCVdXNdnbMDK-U6Nf1trDZvzazZdkOFUVyeypl0D/s1600/IMG_5685.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNX0-GhahAd33yt5XpKRvKipC_NNUX6JPN1I_BOPJfD-WZCuM1Q9v6GH6-_CGcxjGOe4Fw5R0aNxKjWo_G5Q0t_twBEgbEKCVdXNdnbMDK-U6Nf1trDZvzazZdkOFUVyeypl0D/s400/IMG_5685.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Red Cross deployment to Florida with my APAT partner Colin.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZMIpk93mf7gImLsclJeIETJnD3c4DM0adcrzjuUlex5aTlFKDvLU7yd_kLIiGYkPYPw07o2UVNTkNVAC3GvSnHPPlhd8_0P65PAG1p7q1j8yvEjitvy6_HxCgdX2WYDWKPDhE/s1600/20170508_204815.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZMIpk93mf7gImLsclJeIETJnD3c4DM0adcrzjuUlex5aTlFKDvLU7yd_kLIiGYkPYPw07o2UVNTkNVAC3GvSnHPPlhd8_0P65PAG1p7q1j8yvEjitvy6_HxCgdX2WYDWKPDhE/s400/20170508_204815.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Honorable Asa Hutchinson, First Lady Susan Hutchinson<br />and the Magnificent Fifi, Lolly and Jaguar. With Mediocre Mum.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMbn7sU4A4TTK2wAXu8JY0OIlrGSAHHBvqgJptFCarXwgXWIBnnT-bTRgBL9tqCPHZ11eaTZfdkRrOsAm7d4NJkERuW2nTnhVeKVdTUT6oxNqd4TypU2fdMjIIa2iE1SscaLok/s1600/20170513_214000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMbn7sU4A4TTK2wAXu8JY0OIlrGSAHHBvqgJptFCarXwgXWIBnnT-bTRgBL9tqCPHZ11eaTZfdkRrOsAm7d4NJkERuW2nTnhVeKVdTUT6oxNqd4TypU2fdMjIIa2iE1SscaLok/s400/20170513_214000.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tim Delaughter! Bryan Wakeland! Mark Pirro!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-weight: bold;">23. How have you seen yourself grow as a person this year?</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
I'm glad I kept the draft from last year, because this is meaningful and as true in 2015 as in 2016 as in 2017: <i>I think I should copy some of what I put last year, because it's still true, and I'm still growing this way: "I've learned that in order for anything to ever get better, we are going to have to actually do something about it. I can't sit back and hope someone else does something, but I myself must take action... I think we all have our part to play in the big stuff, but even in the small things - keeping a friend's kids so they can get out, donating money or time to tornado relief, bringing someone groceries when they are sick, writing a little note to encourage someone. All the little things that take so little of me but give so much to someone else."</i></div>
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Working for the <a href="http://redcross.org/" target="_blank">Red Cross</a> has given me a way to do that every single day, but it's also given me the means to do it in other smaller ways. Like Dr. Seuss said, "Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not."</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
In 2017 in particular, I've seen myself grow as a self-sufficient person. Someone who doesn't need another person to "complete" her. I've always been independent, but not having a partner in life anymore to help me accomplish all the day-in-day-out tasks or helping me make large decisions has forced me to grow even more independent. Decisions I make now are mine solely, and I'm solely responsible for them. I've grown in self-confidence, and most importantly, I've come to accept that who I am is enough for me. I don't <i>need </i>another person to get me through life. Other people are a wonderful support but are not my foundation. I build and stand on my own foundation.</div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">24. What was your favorite TV program(s)?</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
2016: <i>Stranger Things</i>, <i>House of Cards. </i>(What we didn't know then. Sigh.)</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
2017: Who has time for TV?</div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">26. What was the best book(s) you read? What books would you like to read in the next year?</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Hands down, <i><a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Poisonwood-Bible-Novel-Barbara-Kingsolver/dp/0061577073/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1514738278&sr=8-1&keywords=poisonwood+bible" target="_blank">The Poisonwood Bible</a></i> was the best book I read in 2017. It's up there with <i><a href="http://www.loriarnoldmcfarlane.com/2015/02/silence-by-shusaku-endo.html" target="_blank">Silence</a></i> as far as books that have had a huge impact on me. As for next year, I have a stack of books a mountain high. Where do I start?? As I write this, I'm being recommended <i><a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Book-Strange-New-Things-Novel/dp/0553418866/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1514738935&sr=8-1&keywords=the+book+of+strange+new+things" target="_blank">The Book of Strange New Things</a> </i>which sounds like <i>The Poisonwood Bible</i> in outer space. (Thanks, Brian!)</div>
</div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">27. What was your greatest musical discovery?</span></div>
</div>
<center style="text-align: left;">
It's easy for 2016 - <i>Hamilton</i>. There was also the <i><a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Whats-Inside-Waitress-Sara-Bareilles/dp/B0169ARSU4/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1514738977&sr=8-1&keywords=whats+inside+waitress" target="_blank">What's Inside: Songs from Waitress</a> </i>soundtrack. But this past year, I don't know that anything new was really discovered. </center>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-weight: bold;">28. What did you want and get?</span></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
2016: I really wanted the Red Cross job, and I got it. :)</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
2017: The other Red Cross job.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDubC-DwQyLfOlOATVdCIvXY8wHI9x8ESQD1to4_QCbgCYTJyTaHaiAXoGW_WfvNh7H0SUhyKd8Ym0fkKak4iVtmb2xSusu8uuWUqufbbHMdwLSlX8Q8WzrgozaFn4T1ui4zJN/s1600/20170920_105734+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1265" data-original-width="1600" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDubC-DwQyLfOlOATVdCIvXY8wHI9x8ESQD1to4_QCbgCYTJyTaHaiAXoGW_WfvNh7H0SUhyKd8Ym0fkKak4iVtmb2xSusu8uuWUqufbbHMdwLSlX8Q8WzrgozaFn4T1ui4zJN/s400/20170920_105734+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Red Cross shelter in Ft Myers, FL</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-weight: bold;">29. What did you want and not get?</span></div>
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<div style="text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
A vacation with my kids. Maybe next year.</div>
</div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">30. What were your favorite films of this year?</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Of the movies I saw in the cinema, would it be ridiculous to admit I loved <i>Annabelle: Creation</i>? Because it was immensely fun to watch. And honestly <i>Coco </i>was remarkable. Perhaps my favorite of all though - and mock all you want - was <i>Bad Moms</i> because I relate so hard. I <i>cried</i> and yes, it's a comedy.</div>
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Speaking of crying, it's not a film, but I also went to see <i>Gift of the Magi</i> at the <a href="https://www.therep.org/" target="_blank">Arkansas Repertory Theater</a>, and I cried like a baby through that too.</div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?</span></div>
</div>
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2016: I don't think I did anything for my birthday this year. Sad.</div>
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2017: I went to dinner with a group of my girlfriends at Star of India. I had wanted to karaoke for my birthday, but that time of year was just too dismal for me. Celebrating was kind of the last thing I wanted to do.</div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?</span></div>
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You know what? In spite of what a tough year this has been, I can't think of anything that would have made this year more satisfying. It was a year for healing, and it accomplished just that, and then some. I'm immensely satisfied with my life and how this year progressed. It was hard, y'all - the hardest year of my life. But it was, to be corny as hell, like entering a cocoon, getting liquefied and utterly mangled, and emerging with new wings.</div>
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("<a href="http://www.metrolyrics.com/halloween-lyrics-rent.html" target="_blank">That's poetic! That's pathetic.</a>" Whatevs. It's true.)<br />
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2016/2017?</span></div>
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2016: Pantsuits. (At work.)</div>
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2017: Sweatpants. (Not at work.)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLFzluFVZPIoPeAjgwc6YK06u_IyCzDKsTWOxdxHjHImZg_s3wILSR_iEAOljWaATfNOhr1rEG2Pn6u5GRxKxw-qYCfKHPxUvI8oRNVUtbTZM2PfUW5nXlllYDB-pjemBVAvFt/s1600/IMG_2059.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLFzluFVZPIoPeAjgwc6YK06u_IyCzDKsTWOxdxHjHImZg_s3wILSR_iEAOljWaATfNOhr1rEG2Pn6u5GRxKxw-qYCfKHPxUvI8oRNVUtbTZM2PfUW5nXlllYDB-pjemBVAvFt/s320/IMG_2059.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Suit up!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">34. What kept you sane?</span></div>
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My job. In fact, credit for this goes to my dear friend Nigel in Colorado. Last December, I went to Denver for a Divisional meeting where I met Nigel and a number of other Red Cross communications directors in our Division (nine states). I confided in Nigel what was happening with my marriage. She gave me the best advice, and this advice got me through the first half of 2017. She said the only way to survive in my new job with this happening was to leave my baggage at the front door of the office before I walked in everyday and pick it back up when I walk out. Easier said than done, I know, but I took that image with me every day. I would often cry the entire drive into work, but when I parked my car, I wiped my eyes, applied a bit of fresh makeup, and walked into the office, leaving my personal life in the car. I would focus and concentrate hard all day on my work, refusing myself a free second to think about what was going on outside my job. When the day was done, I got back in my car and cried the whole way home. I did this for the first several months after Scott moved out. My job gave me a needed distraction and a focus and a purpose. It kept me going, even on my darkest, most sinister days. I even remember driving back from Fayetteville one day in a Red Cross car, thinking how easy it would be to end it all by driving off the edge of the road into the ravine - except I was in a Red Cross car and didn't want to destroy something that was there to help people in time of need. (I was severely depressed and illogical. Don't blame me for having odd priorities during that dark time.)</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsapzEaSS5yzwbckZJk3pB5AneTdvafqWCA1qywRiACTwQ89h2vtUrCBQMXa9vbeERc2iiqroj8aX0PWLUW41Mkd9L3N6b_xPLivTEQu214-ZXrItzLApbFwN9-gRVc8S8-KLS/s1600/IMG_3733.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1556" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsapzEaSS5yzwbckZJk3pB5AneTdvafqWCA1qywRiACTwQ89h2vtUrCBQMXa9vbeERc2iiqroj8aX0PWLUW41Mkd9L3N6b_xPLivTEQu214-ZXrItzLApbFwN9-gRVc8S8-KLS/s400/IMG_3733.JPG" width="388" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Raising money for flooding relief via KARK telethon.<br />That's me with Aaron Nolan and Arkansas AG Lesley Rutledge.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">35. Which holiday or special occasion meant the most to you?</span></div>
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I have two. And they are weird.</div>
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The first was Valentine's Day, my first Valentine's Day as a single woman. Scott brought me flowers in spite of our separation. I knew then that we were going to get through this civilly and as friends.</div>
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The second was Christmas this year. I spent the weekend before Christmas on a mini vacation with The Boyfriend, and it was magical. No matter what happens with us in the future, we both agree that's a weekend we never want to forget. Our relationship may last or it may not, but after an extremely hard year for both of us, I feel like this Christmas gave us both hope that our lives are going to be okay.</div>
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(The Boyfriend's name, by the way, is <a href="http://godlessindixie.com/" target="_blank">Neil</a>.)</div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">36. What political issue stirred you the most?</span></div>
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2016: All of them. And now that we are approaching a President Trump, I can no longer stomach politics. I used to listen to NPR all the time - it was my alarm in the morning, what I listened to on the way to and from work and during lunch breaks. Now I just cannae.</div>
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2017: All of them. Still. I just can't even.</div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">37. Who did you miss?</span></div>
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2016: My Scottish friends, especially Heather. I could've used having her nearby this year.</div>
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2017: Same.</div>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">38. Who was the best new person (people) you met?</span></div>
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2016: I like my new coworkers. They are the only new people I met that I can think of, but I've only known them for a few months. (Katrina, Brian, Dave, Stephanie - the list could go on and on and on so to avoid missing anyone I'll stop there.)</div>
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2017: I made some great new friends this year. <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Scales-Justice-Taylor-Dugan-ebook/dp/B074PYMYCF" target="_blank">Taylor</a> and Jeremy - especially Jeremy and his lovely and hilarious daughter Pengwen (not her real name), and of course The Boyfriend, along with the guys who come along with him, Brian and Marvin (their real names). I also continue to meet incredible people through work, such as all the members of my Board of Directors (I could name you all but I'll settle with naming a few - Eric, Adrienne, Joe, Jeff, Monica) and new coworkers like Steve and Llahoma. I've met some really wonderful people this year.</div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgyfhH4hCi44PxSlEFZiReWIrBv9T4cDehAEYj25EJ9sPfEAURmnkGI5fHnMDxHNcpd8jwd0GGp6LY32vbaQZUCkTHSF7tA_J3vUppPly6tiWoja1txj_SGQ3KzqdgOrtf5Kq0/s1600/IMG_6448.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgyfhH4hCi44PxSlEFZiReWIrBv9T4cDehAEYj25EJ9sPfEAURmnkGI5fHnMDxHNcpd8jwd0GGp6LY32vbaQZUCkTHSF7tA_J3vUppPly6tiWoja1txj_SGQ3KzqdgOrtf5Kq0/s400/IMG_6448.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">My buddy Jeremy.</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuXRgyC8lpLfMpYt9YGMwEHS8XlVvOaJ0C7bzXAFV-K3DMQ-tdZ9SXoDlGBJZnTVHh_KWkoiUrNEJ-m1oitS7wcMMmdZyy80_7S0xzS2G0Io8ZcUNIybU3tLWzbILcvA4U0tnd/s1600/IMG_6909.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuXRgyC8lpLfMpYt9YGMwEHS8XlVvOaJ0C7bzXAFV-K3DMQ-tdZ9SXoDlGBJZnTVHh_KWkoiUrNEJ-m1oitS7wcMMmdZyy80_7S0xzS2G0Io8ZcUNIybU3tLWzbILcvA4U0tnd/s400/IMG_6909.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">My Kehlers.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2016/2017.</span></div>
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Let's just stick with 2017 here.</div>
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Conflict does not have be synonymous with war. Scott and I had two options for handling our conflict this year - allow it to result in devastation or growth. I imagine a nuclear wasteland where most failed marriages end up. Everything's black and burnt and destroyed, there is hate and death and agony. But there's also a winter garden where we determined we'd plant our failed marriage. The grass was brown and withered, but there was potential for new life. A spring could come where new flowers blossomed, and where hope and healing could push through the soil out of the struggle. There were a few frosts early on that threatened to choke out the new life we hoped to grow, but as summer approached, we began to see the fruits of the labor we put into keeping our conflict mutually constructive. Like that cheesy butterfly analogy earlier: conflict can also result in beauty and transformation. It doesn't have to result in mass destruction.</div>
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To those of you who don't know what to make of the relationship Scott and I now have, think on this a little. We've got three amazing children who need two parents who love each other. We may not want to be married anymore, but we shared twelve years together and share the responsibility of raising three kids in the most fertile soil we can. So yes, we will always care for each other and love each other, even if we aren't married to each other and end up falling in love with other people. Conflict doesn't have to be synonymous with war.<br />
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Everything Changes" - Sara Bareilles, <i>What's Inside: Songs from Waitress</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Everything changes.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">My heart's at the wheel now<br />a</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">nd all my mistakes, </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">they make sense<br />when I turn them around.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Everything changes ...</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I didn't know,<br />but now I see s</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">ometimes what is, is meant to be ...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">My blurry lines, my messy life c</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">ome into focus</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">and in time maybe </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">I can heal and I can breathe</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">'cause I can feel myself believe</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">that everything changes.</span><br />
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Lori Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05600443590399882818noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5390111.post-25145035707240011122017-12-12T23:11:00.001-06:002017-12-13T08:45:05.095-06:00Advent Thoughts: Part-Time Christmas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqTXjU7lUbogevVAlDMEFN6TO80d5EShQLYt-gjhszlZnlfuxDU8rkT449rovTICt-zYDjTUpa1INZXDR6uGMq7JDaRQoJx6lSE1SuMWLWjRH0yBBa66p-W3gQ74plAYA2BpXX/s1600/IMG_7459.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="954" data-original-width="1600" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqTXjU7lUbogevVAlDMEFN6TO80d5EShQLYt-gjhszlZnlfuxDU8rkT449rovTICt-zYDjTUpa1INZXDR6uGMq7JDaRQoJx6lSE1SuMWLWjRH0yBBa66p-W3gQ74plAYA2BpXX/s400/IMG_7459.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">For the past I don't know how many years - pause - actually thanks to my blog I can track it back to </span><a href="http://www.loriarnoldmcfarlane.com/2010/11/advent-blog.html" style="font-family: inherit;" target="_blank">2009</a><span style="font-family: inherit;">...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So for the past eight years, I have celebrated Christmas with an Advent Activity Calendar for my kids. Each day leading up to Christmas, instead of chocolate, they pull out a note "from the elves" with an activity for the day. In <a href="http://www.loriarnoldmcfarlane.com/2012/11/debloadmo.html" target="_blank">early years</a>, we did all kind of arts and crafts together to prepare for the holiday, though in <a href="http://www.loriarnoldmcfarlane.com/2015/12/debloadmo-2015.html" target="_blank">recent years</a> the activity lists have gotten a little - I hate to call it <i>lazy </i>but - perhaps less time-consuming? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">(I also used to blog about it. I named the blog project DeBloAdMo, riffing off of <a href="https://en.blog.wordpress.com/2013/11/01/nablopomo-november-2013/" target="_blank">NaBloPoMo</a>. However, just as I was always bad about daily blogging during November's National Blog Post Month, I was equally bad at daily blogging my December Blog Advent Month.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Last Christmas, for the eighth year in a row, we put out the Advent Activity Calendar, but it was an awful month for me and Scott. We chose really easy, low-maintenance activities, and even still we ended up not doing half of them. Part of that was the busyness and excessive travel of the early days of my new job; much was due to the struggles he and I were facing as our marriage crumbled. I didn't even blog about it once, apparently. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Some people eschew anything that brings back difficult memories. It would've been easier to leave </span><a href="http://www.loriarnoldmcfarlane.com/2017/11/this-too-is-gonna-pass.html" style="font-family: inherit;" target="_blank">my tree ornaments in the box</a><span style="font-family: inherit;"> and buy new ones. It would be easier to do away with old traditions and start new ones that don't remind me of the past. But the pains - and pleasures - of the past make us who we are. They are a part of our tapestry. I don't want to forget any part of my life, not like I could if I wanted to, regardless of where I am now. As I journey on through life, I want to learn from my mistakes, bask in the moments that filled me with joy and respect the obstacles I've faced that have led me to where I am now.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So in keeping with a tradition I have loved, the Advent Activity Calendar went out again this year. It was different this time, and a little weird. I only have the kids every other week, meaning the Advent calendar is only half-filled. It made planning activities easier, but it also feels like it's only Christmas part-time. The tiny empty pockets are kind of sad. (I've been trying not to look at them and see myself missing half my children's lives in those empty little pockets.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The feelings of being a part-time parent are difficult to describe. There are pluses and minuses. I would be totally lying if I didn't say I really enjoy having some time to myself. I like having a quiet house, and I <i>love</i> being able to clean a room and it stay clean for a whole week. I enjoy having some free time again to do whatever I want. The freedom is pretty awesome, but I recognize this isn't how it's meant to be. I hate feeling like I'm missing out on time with my children. I hate that they are making memories every other week without me, and making memories without their dad on my weeks. The house gets too quiet sometimes, and I find myself wandering around at a loss for what to do and missing the delight of seeing life through those three pairs of child-sized eyes. It's an indescribable feeling, enjoying being alone and hating being alone. If I think about it too hard, well, I just get upset over the whole thing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">But ever the optimist, I look at the bright side. When the kids come back to my house after a week away, I am excited to see them again. My patience tank is full. My appreciation for their little quirks is in full swing. My tolerance for their messes is higher, knowing that I'll just clean everything up in a week, and it'll be okay. I am energized and rested and ready to be their mummy full time and to the best of my ability. That's got to be a good thing! And when the week is up, and I'm starting to feel the strain and stress and frustration of being a single mum, they go to a rested, patient, excited-to-see-them daddy. So despite only getting half the month of December with them leading up to Christmas, I've been able to have a lot more fun with them this year, especially with our activity calendar.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Here's what the elves had lined up for this 2017 Advent season:</span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">5 – Drive through Sherwood Forest to look at Christmas lights.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">6 – Check email message from Santa.</span></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">7 – Eat dinner by candlelight.</span></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">8 – Drink hot chocolate with marshmallows.</span></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">9 – Cut out snowflakes and hang them around the house.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">10 – Choose toys to donate and go see a Christmas movie at the
cinema.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">11 – Have a sleepover after school with Mimi and Poppi.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">19 – Make reindeer food.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">20 – Eat Christmas pancakes in pajamas for dinner.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">21 – Film a Christmas video for family and friends in Scotland.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">22 – Wrap presents to put under the tree.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">23 – Make gingerbread men for the Christmas tree.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">24 – Go to a carol service, then put out snacks and reindeer
food for Santa’s sleigh team!!</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Our first week was a lot of fun. The kids were bouncing in their seats and singing "All I Want For Christmas" at the top of their lungs as we drove through the Christmas lights display at Sherwood Forest. Jaguar still believed his email message was actually from Santa (even though Santa pronounced his name wrong</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">) and had the most magical sparkle in his eye as Santa talked directly to him. We enjoyed hot chocolate with gigantic marshmallows for breakfast. (Bad idea, folks, bad idea right before school - they were so hyper!) We went to see <i>Coco</i> together - not a Christmas movie, but one we all LOVED. And last night they spent the night with their grandparents (a total cop-out since I had to travel for work that day, but still looked on as a mid-school-week adventure). </span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Confession: </i>We forgot to light the candles for dinner on the 7th. And we have yet to cut out the paper snowflakes. Both of these oversights will be remedied. And as for the toy donation, my youngest refused to part with ANYTHING, so one of the benefits of part-time parenting is I have all week to sort through their toys for them, and they will never notice anything has left the building.</span></span></div>
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Yes, it feels sad to have those empty pockets, representing little days and precious memories I'm missing out on. In an ideal world, sure, all the pockets would be full. But we make of the world what we choose to make it, and we're making it the best we can for ourselves and for our children. I'm thankful my kids get their daddy as much as they do. I'm happy I get them as much as I do. I'm glad that he and I get along well enough that the kids still get both of us together fairly regularly. The twenty-four days leading up to Christmas this year may be split in half, but Christmas day will be whole, as all five of us open presents together, first at my house then at their dad's, in our new different-kind-of-family way. We know that our new different-kind-of-family will likely morph and grow over the years, that new traditions will develop and some old traditions will fade away. One day all of those pockets will be empty, come to think of it, as the kids grow up and abandon their childhood games. So I'm grateful for the time I have with our kids, grateful for the time they have with their dad, and I'm grateful for the time I get to recharge my own batteries every other week.</div>
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It feels like in closing I should say something about when life gives you lemons, but instead, since it's Christmas, let me just say that when life gives you broken eggs, you gotta look on the bright side and make eggnog. </div>
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Though it doesn't hurt to double the rum.</div>
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Lori Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05600443590399882818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5390111.post-71638675564881586192017-11-30T08:36:00.000-06:002017-11-30T08:59:38.121-06:00Ask An Atheist: Managing Relationships With Religious Loved Ones<span style="font-family: inherit;">A couple of days ago, I received this private message from a friend:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Remember the part of your blog "<a href="http://www.loriarnoldmcfarlane.com/search/label/Ask%20An%20Atheist" target="_blank">Ask an Atheist</a>"? We have a question. [My husband] and I are skeptical, but my daughter is a full blown atheist. How did you keep your deeply religious parents from torturing you? My mother is relentless and cruel! Help!</i></span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Not an easy question to tackle sensitively. Immediately three or four ways to respond popped into my head, and I asked if I could answer her question via blog post, since there was no way I'd be able to squeeze it all into a text. It's not officially <a href="https://www.secular.org/event/national-ask-atheist-day-0" target="_blank">National Ask An Atheist Day</a>, but I'll answer the question regardless.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Finding a photo for this topic was tough, so here's a religious family.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The first thing I have to do is set an understanding. I did not come from a secular background. I wasn't raised to be an atheist. I was raised in the church, and I devoted the vast majority of my life to faith in Christ. For anyone reading this, it's important to know that I <b>intimately</b> understand the perspective of our religious family members. As a devout believer myself, I used to lie in bed at night and <i>plead</i> to God with all my strength that all three of my children would be saved. The possibility that any one of them might grow up to reject our faith was so overwhelming and terrifying to me, that those prayers were often wet with tears. The <a href="http://www.loriarnoldmcfarlane.com/2015/03/no-fear-in-love.html" target="_blank">threat of hell</a> was so real that I simply could not bear imagining it for my children. In fact, just the thought that any of them might not be saved was sheer agony; it made my chest ache with anguish and fear.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So understand that everything I say from here on comes from a place of<i> personally knowing how some religious parents feel.</i></span><br />
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Notice I said "some parents", because this is not necessarily the sole reason parents (and other loved ones) can be so upset when children or grandchildren question or even reject the family faith. There are other reasons for negative reactions from religious family members, such as bringing shame on the family, feeling their "tribe" has been rejected, feeling they are being rebelled against, or even feeling judged for their beliefs by the unbelieving individual. I don't want to go too deeply into all the reasons believing family members might be so bothered by unbelieving ones, but if you want to analyze this topic more deeply, there are <a href="http://www.patheos.com/blogs/godlessindixie/2017/09/29/the-sociology-of-belief/" target="_blank">others who have explored this subject in greater depth</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Let me also add a disclaimer - not all believers hound unbelieving loved ones. Many are live-and-let-live or simply keep their thoughts and feelings to themselves. Some do not stress about hell or care about family pride or feel a person's rejection of their faith is a rejection of them. So for those people, this post isn't about them. They're doing it right already. Thank you.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So assuming that the push back we atheists, agnostics and skeptics receive is based on any of those reasons above, we automatically are at a disadvantage. If it comes from a place of fear for our souls, there is nothing we can do to take that fear away. If it comes from a place of shaming the family by not towing the line, we cannot take that embarrassment away. In a society where religion (particularly Christianity) is not just the norm but the expectation, the onus ends up being on us to manage and mitigate these negative feelings that our unbelief produces in our loved ones, because somehow <i>we</i> are the ones who have done something "wrong".</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">For me personally, my parents are deeply religious, but I'd never say they "torture" me or are "cruel" to me. They can, however, feel relentless. My parents genuinely believe I'm going to hell, and this is a source of extreme anguish for them. Once again, let me reiterate that <i>I really do get it.</i> Yet, as firmly as they <i>know</i> I'm going to hell, I just as firmly <i>know</i> that there is no such place. Therefore it feels like the responsibility of managing their emotions always falls on me, because I'm the one who isn't emotionally distressed. Having been on both sides of the matter, I can see it from their perspective. They, however, cannot see it from mine. In fact, never at all does it seem they stop to think how their relentless proselytizing might affect my emotions or our relationship, because they cannot see that far. They see only my eternity in hell, and that clouds out every other possible perspective. Therefore, it's up to me, who has been on both sides, to respond in one of two ways - I can either scoff at their constant attempts at drawing me back in or I can empathize with them. I always choose the latter, but believe me, it's not fun and it's not fair.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It's not fair, because it drives a wedge between us, every single time, and they can't see it. They can't see that every comment, every dig, every attempt at making me see it their way is another brick laid in the wall that separates us. Christians (and others) in general don't seem to see how much we nonbelievers are expected to consider their feelings first, show respect for their beliefs and walk on eggshells to avoid hurting or offending them, when none of that consideration or respect is given to us. For family members who are embarrassed by what we've done to their reputation, it might be even more difficult. It's one thing for me to empathize with their fear of my going to hell, but it's a lot harder to empathize with those who just wish we'd shut up and stop bruising the family pride. Every time we sense that their disapproval of us is based on the disapproval they receive (or perceive to receive) from others, another brick is laid in that wall between us.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Nevertheless, that's where most of us are, so what can we do to handle it?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I can only speak from experience, and my answers aren't great. They aren't all what I'd call healthy solutions, but in the lose-lose situation that many of us find ourselves in, we sometimes can only make do with the best options we have.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>First, I avoid the subject like the plague. </b>Normally, avoidance is <i>not</i> what I'd recommend, but in this case, if it's necessary to keep that wall from getting too tall or wide, I will hold my tongue. It pains me to keep feelings to myself and avoid honest discussions, but it pains me more to feel rejection, especially from the people I love the most. I hate superficiality, but I hate disapproval more. For in every "you need to come back to the Lord" or "God is trying to get your attention" or "you know, if you just turned to Jesus ...", what I hear is rejection and disapproval. I have to sort through those feelings each time to remember they are being said with some kind of good intentions (usually). That these kinds of comments inadvertently (or deliberately) imply a dismissal of my well-thought and hard-fought conclusions about the world is never, seemingly, a concern for the other party. But that's what they are, so to avoid facing their disapproval of my (lack of) beliefs, I resort to steering clear of the subject at all costs.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">However, there are times when<b> I have to put my foot down and ask them to stop</b>. At the end of the day, I'm a grown-ass woman, and I do not have to be put down for what I believe or don't believe. (And neither should they, for that matter). There have been a small handful of times when the attacks have been out of order and beyond what I am willing to tolerate, and I've had to tell people to <i>stop</i>. If your religious family members are taking it to a level that you do not feel you (or your child) ought to be subjected to, then put your foot down and don't tolerate it anymore. If people are truly being relentless and cruel, you have every right to draw the line and set some boundaries. And you have every right to demand that the boundaries be respected. Trust me, this is also something I don't like to do. Talk about building a wall! But if a wall is needed to protect yourself, then build it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">If you're in a situation where open conversation is encouraged and you don't need to avoid the subject, then you are in an enviable situation. <b>Where appropriate, openly discuss your differences in beliefs</b>. Trying to get them to see things from your perspective might do wonders. A thought experiment I used to practice as a Christian was to put myself in the shoes of someone who believed something completely opposite to my beliefs in order to empathize with them as people who believed just as strongly in their faith as I believed in mine. I had ulterior motives of course; this is how I imagined trying to save the souls of people in other countries where I went on mission trips to. It was a good experiment though; to fully understand how to relate to people with different beliefs, I had to first understand that undervaluing, diminishing or dismissing their beliefs would only drive a wedge between us. If Christians and members of other faiths could first recognize that by dismissing or mischaracterizing atheists, agnostics and skeptics they are driving a wedge further between us, the lines of communication would open up so much wider and our relationships would be much more satisfying and meaningful.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I'll say it again though - it's almost always been my experience that in handling religious family members' feelings and remarks, <b>it's up to us to be the relationship managers</b>. Though we're put at a disadvantage, though we're the ones who have to defend our positions, though the burden of proof is placed on us, though our feelings aren't part of the equation, we are the ones who have to manage the conversations and relationships to keep them on a level we are comfortable and satisfied with. We have to decide when to speak and when to be silent, when to defend and when to ignore, and when and where we draw the lines. We have to decide how much empathy we extend and how much criticism we tolerate, and conversely, we have to decide when enough's enough and what we will not put up with.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I hate the way that previous paragraph sounds. It may come across as egregiously pompous and self-righteous to say that, but it is the truth. (Unless, of course, <i>you </i>are the one putting <i>them</i> on the defensive all the time, telling <i>them</i> that they are wrong and foolish, in which case <b>stop</b> or at least change tactics, because that's exactly what we don't want others doing to <i>us</i>.)</span><br />
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<b>*To my friend specifically*</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">If your parents are being cruel to your daughter, then put a stop to it. If it comes to it, give them an ultimatum. Let them know that she has a right to her own beliefs and that you both as her parents will defend her autonomy. Furthermore, remind them that <i>you</i> have the right to question things also and they need to respect <i>your</i> autonomy as well. If their concerns come from a place of good intentions, acknowledge that you realize this and that you appreciate their concern but that hounding you or your daughter will only drive a wedge between you and hinder your relationship. If they truly want to see her or you return to their brand of the faith, they need to lay off and simply love you both unconditionally. If what they believe is true in the end, then it would be God, not them, that would convince you of it. The nagging, the condescension, the disapproval, even the well-intended remarks will not do it. They only strain the relationship, and I'm willing to assume that that is not what any of you want. Stay strong, my friend. And tell that daughter of yours I'm always looking for a babysitter.</span><br />
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Lori Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05600443590399882818noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5390111.post-91218167279825309372017-11-26T00:08:00.000-06:002017-11-26T20:25:21.404-06:00This Too Is Gonna Pass<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"If you can keep it together, just keep it together, you're fine, </i></div>
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<i>because one way or another, for better or for worse, this too is gonna pass."</i></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>-</i>Quiet Company "On Ex-Husbands & Wives"</span></div>
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I love holidays, all holidays. Despite how commercialized they've all become, they all give me a thrill, and I love celebrating them. All year long - Valentine's Day, Easter, Independence Day, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Hogmanay (New Year's Eve) - I look forward to participating in whatever traditional, cheesy festivities accompany each upcoming holiday.<br />
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This year, however, has been a year full of really hard holidays, for it was the first year of celebrating each holiday without a husband. </div>
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I haven't talked much about my divorce here. For nearly the entirety of this blog's existence, it was Scott-and-Lori. Scott and I <a href="http://www.loriarnoldmcfarlane.com/2003/08/lets-get-crunk-cause-loris-back-well.html" target="_blank">started dating</a> only months after I started blogging in 2003, and he's been a main character ever since. Moving it away from scottandlori.co.uk/.com was a weird transition, and I haven't really known where to go with it since. (Thus the "in flux" bit.) A lot has happened in our lives this year that didn't feel appropriate to share publicly, and especially not here, where our relationship has been hosted for its entire existence.</div>
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But it's been almost a year (in fact, it's been pretty much exactly a year since the break-up started, though it wasn't <a href="http://www.loriarnoldmcfarlane.com/2017/02/the-official-statement.html" target="_blank">made public</a> until a few months later) and at some point me and my blog have to move on.</div>
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Last year, Scott and I celebrated Christmas and New Year together, but by the end of January, Scott had moved out, and come February I was faced with my first annual holiday without him. </div>
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This was my first Valentine's Day as a single woman in thirteen years. <a href="http://www.loriarnoldmcfarlane.com/2017/02/its-valentines-day-and-id-rather-be-in.html" target="_blank">I tried to act grossed out</a> by all the pink and red hearts and balloons and flowers splattered across every shopping center like a murdered cupid, but deep down it was a deeply painful season. Scott, knowing how much I love holidays, especially Valentine's, brought me flowers that afternoon, despite the rawness and ugliness of everything going on at the time. It was a gesture that foreshadowed the sensitivity and graciousness with which we would strive to handle this whole separation and divorce thing in the months (and presumably years) to come. </div>
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We decided around Memorial Day that until further notice, we would just celebrate holidays together as a family, and that's how we've done it since. Fourth of July, Labor Day, Halloween, and most recently Thanksgiving have all been shared with the kids and with each other. It's been the single most important thing for us that the kids feel secure and safe, and while there's always the risk of the kids harboring hope that we'll get back together, we feel keeping a close co-parenting, family-of-a-different-kind relationship has got to be better for them than separating our entire lives and never crossing paths with each other. We're still a family and always will be one. Just a different kind of family.</div>
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But of all the holidays we've survived this year, Christmas is without a doubt going to be the hardest. It's a time of year oozing with memories, mostly wonderful but now bittersweet at best. As has always been the tradition, I put up our Christmas tree yesterday, the day after Thanksgiving, and not surprisingly, it produced a lot of emotions.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfDZkukfpgV5ghKvVINdIDsX7JznOh1ve8R9s4TJpwZYjCR9FEVNCpvyrj_dj5R_BBVaEWOWzkBQpyksL6dZP_uLAx7ync_L2oPFbEIObveNju5QkwIXIRab1u37F2F_5vQQKf/s1600/IMG_7271.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfDZkukfpgV5ghKvVINdIDsX7JznOh1ve8R9s4TJpwZYjCR9FEVNCpvyrj_dj5R_BBVaEWOWzkBQpyksL6dZP_uLAx7ync_L2oPFbEIObveNju5QkwIXIRab1u37F2F_5vQQKf/s320/IMG_7271.JPG" width="240" /></a>We don't have a "pretty" Christmas tree. We don't have matching baubles or sprigs of holly or fancy bows. We have a vast array of mismatched ornaments that each carry with them some kind of sentimental value. We have ornaments from our very first Christmas together, multiple "baby's first" ornaments, ornaments that were gifts from various loved ones, Lolly's birthday ornaments (with a birthday a week before Christmas, it became a tradition early on to give out ornaments as party favors every year) and the annual selections for each member of the family that we choose every year based on what the kids (and sometimes the grown-ups) are interested in. There are memories attached to just about every single thing we hang on the tree.</div>
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I knew decorating the tree this year was going to be difficult, so I braced myself for an onslaught of emotions when I opened the red plastic Christmas decorations tub. Even still, there was no way to be totally prepared for the intensity of feels that came with handling each ornament and recalling the associated memories. Perhaps the saddest one was the ornament labeled "McFarlanes 2016" - a gingerbread family with all of our names etched on them.</div>
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I remember receiving that gift last year (from my mother, I believe) and feeling a rush of regret - no one really knew what we were going through yet, and as I looked at this ornament, I recalled thinking how sad it was that quite possibly by next year we wouldn't be that family anymore. And sure enough, we aren't.</div>
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It's hard to explain the feelings that all of this year's holidays have brought, especially this season. How do I adequately explain all the mixed emotions that I've felt, especially when I barely understand them myself? </div>
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It would be natural for one to assume that I wish my marriage hadn't fallen apart, but the truth is I don't feel our decision to end our marriage was wrong. I don't think Scott thinks so either. We don't long to be back together, but there is still this feeling of ... regret? failure? a dream lost? grief? </div>
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We never intended our marriage to end this way. We thought we'd be together forever. We believed in marriage, we believed in everlasting love. To not achieve that goal feels like a massive failure. Furthermore, we have a family that we never intended to split up. Breaking up our family is the biggest failure I can conceive of committing. I look back on everything we did wrong and wonder if we could've done something sooner to salvage the relationship. But the reality is, people change. Neither of us are the same people we were when we said I Do. We did a good job of trying to grow together and change together, but in the end it wasn't enough. Calling it quits when we did meant we could go on as co-parents and friends, but it still feels like we failed. Honestly, it mostly feels like *I* failed. For the truth of the matter is, it was me that messed everything up and brought the marriage to its end. </div>
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Yet for all the regrets and mistakes, I still believe we've made the right choice. I try not to speak for Scott anymore, but I think it's safe to say we're both happier now, even though there's still a lot of sadness too. Divorce causes a slough of emotions, both sad and happy. It would be an incomplete picture to only paint one part of that. So yes, this year has been a hard one for me. But the year has also been a good one. A really good one in many ways, while also being extremely painful in others. <a href="http://www.loriarnoldmcfarlane.com/2017/02/blue-skies-and-gray-skies.html" target="_blank">Blue skies and gray skies.</a> How do you explain those mixed emotions and mixed experiences coherently? I'm still not sure I understand it myself.<br />
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Writing about it has been rather off-limits, even though the limits are mostly self-imposed. It's still raw sometimes, and I haven't felt comfortable publicly sharing things so deeply personal. Yet I love blogging, and while I've written many things for my own eyes only, not blogging about about the things that are most real in my life has felt like cutting off an appendage. So this coming year, while I will still probably keep many things to myself, I've decided it's time to allow myself to blog about my life again. It'll be difficult to sort through what is shareable and what is not, but at some point I've got to be able to move on and write again.<br />
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In the meantime, I've got one last holiday season to get through as a first time single woman and mother. With it will come tears and regrets just like with the other holidays, but this particular time of year will be harder than all the rest. What's comforting though is I'm not going through it alone. Scott and I may not be a couple anymore, but we are still a family, and we've committed to continue doing this life thing as friends. With the support of our families and friends, we will do just fine, even when life is at its hardest. </div>
Lori Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05600443590399882818noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5390111.post-36305724371529870202017-11-07T22:14:00.000-06:002017-11-07T22:54:00.720-06:00What Does Diversity Bring to the Table?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I hate getting into arguments. As a middle child and a people pleaser, I try to steer conversations away from controversial topics if I sense they will get heated. I don't like offending people, and my empathy easily extends to those I both agree and disagree with. I will happily engage in lighthearted debate with friends, and with some people I'll even engage in earnest debates, if I know them well enough to be confident there will be no hard feelings. But with strangers or people who might get easily upset, I avoid hot topics like the plague.<br />
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This isn't always a positive thing. Sometimes it means I let things slide that I shouldn't. I often hear mildly racist, sexist or homophobic comments, and to avoid conflict, I perhaps keep my mouth shut too often. Especially in polite company, where I don't want to come off as argumentative. But the other night, after hearing someone (a rich white male) rhetorically and contemptuously ask, "What's the point of diversity? What does it bring to the table?", I couldn't keep my mouth shut. I launched into all the reasons why diversity is necessary, especially in my work with the <a href="http://redcross.org/" target="_blank">Red Cross</a>, where it is imperative that all communities are represented and no one is forgotten or overlooked. Surprisingly, but not so surprisingly, the conversation took an ugly turn at that point, and some of the most egregious racist and white privilege rhetoric was spewed, and needless to say the conversation did not end well. No regrets though. Sometimes arguments just can't and shouldn't be avoided.<br />
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So why is diversity important? For what I do, diversity is of utmost importance if we want to be sure we are accomplishing our mission to serve all people regardless of race, ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation, religion, ability, income or geography.* That point was driven home to me in an illuminating way this morning in a meeting with the <a href="http://www.ar-silc.org/" target="_blank">Arkansas State Independent Living Council (ARSILC)</a>.<br />
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The meeting had actually been arranged to discuss diversity and inclusion days before the aforementioned interaction. My goal for this meeting was, in retrospect, very narrow though. I wanted to talk about how to include more people with functional and access needs in workplace employment and volunteerism. But before my volunteer counterpart and I could even start talking about hiring practices, the executive director for ARSILC dove into the importance of creating an emergency preparedness action plan for people with disabilities. She began talking about all kinds of disabilities, from mobility needs to hearing and seeing impairment to developmental delays and autism. As she continued detailing all the ways in which existing disaster preparedness education could be developed to include those with disabilities, I became increasingly aware how narrow my perspective on people with "functional and access needs" really was.<br />
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For all my talk about diversity and inclusion - making sure diverse populations are being represented "at the table" so we can better serve all people - the thought of how we are serving those with disabilities never really came to my mind. Sure I'd gone so far as to consider and evaluate our hiring practices, but I hadn't actually thought about the people we serve during times of disaster - the adult with Down Syndrome who lives independently with the assistance of caregivers during a tornado or the children in wheelchairs or with hearing impairment when a smoke alarm goes off in the middle of the night due to a house fire. How are we including those people in our plans and preparedness outreach? Have we brought <a href="http://www.redcross.org/get-help/how-to-prepare-for-emergencies/resources-for-schools#Tips-for-Students" target="_blank">The Pillowcase Project </a>to the schools for the deaf and blind? What about <a href="http://www.pathfinderinc.org/" target="_blank">Pathfinders</a>? We do provide special smoke alarms for the hearing impaired, but have we made a targeted effort to make sure those who are deaf or hearing impaired know of this free service? Should we get hit with a huge disaster of Hurricane Harvey proportions (an earthquake along the New Madrid fault line, for instance), have we considered how people with disabilities fit into our emergency action plans? When food is air dropped into a disaster zone, have we thought about how the elderly or other people with mobility issues are going to get to access that food?<br />
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I am ashamed to admit that these thoughts had never crossed my mind. Surely they have crossed the minds of others within the organization, but from our every day practices locally, this has certainly not been a priority as far as I can tell.<br />
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And <i>this</i> is just one example of what diversity brings to the table. Having representatives from communities and populations that I and others like me have limited or no access to means we can make sure no one is being forgotten. A few months ago, I had a similar conversation with the owner of <a href="http://hola-arkansas.com/" target="_blank">Hola! Arkansas</a> on how we can better reach Hispanic and Spanish-speaking populations to make them more aware of our services and provide better disaster preparedness education to them. During my recent deployment in Florida, I worked with Spanish- and Creole-speaking populations where <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JpR4FHAvXe0&feature=youtu.be" target="_blank">the need for bilingual volunteers</a> became vividly apparent. Without exposure to and representation from people unlike ourselves, we can easily become entrenched in our own perspectives only. And in some industries more than others, that entrenchment can be detrimental and have very real life-altering consequences.<br />
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The most shocking thing that was said to me during that argument the other night was "And why do you care?" Being that I'd shaped the context of the argument around the mission of the Red Cross - providing humanitarian services, something surely everyone would agree upon - I was dumbfounded that this was even asked. I could barely conceive of an answer more basic than to reply, "Because they're people!" Diversity and inclusion aren't just trendy buzzwords. In my line of work especially, they don't just refer to hiring x number of black people, LGBT people and people of various religions (which by the way is a faulty understanding of <a href="http://www.thecrimson.com/article/1973/3/20/affirmative-action-vs-quotas-pbabffirmative-action/" target="_blank">affirmative action</a>, which is not about "quotas", but that's another topic for another day). They refer to making sure all people have the same access to the life-saving preparedness education and disaster response services we provide. It's about caring for all human beings, no matter what they look like, where they come from or how they act. It's about basic humanitarianism, plain and simple.<br />
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Placing a focus on diversity and inclusion isn't about checking a politically correct box for us at the Red Cross; it's about literally saving lives. Even if there were nothing else diversity could "bring to the table", that alone would be enough. (Of course, that's not all that it brings - pulling together varied and colorful people from all walks of life and all backgrounds makes every company, organization and individual better and more successful, not to mention how profoundly it can enrich the lives of everyone involved.) I'm thankful that more and more people are starting to understand all the brilliant and illuminating things diversity brings to the table. And with those that don't see that yet, I guess I'll be engaging in more awkward conversations.<br />
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<i>*The <a href="http://www.redcross.org/about-us/who-we-are/mission-and-values" target="_blank">seven fundamental principles</a> of the American Red Cross (and the International Committee of the Red Cross - ICRC) are perhaps what make me most proud of the organization I work for and how we pursue our mission to prevent and alleviate human suffering in the face of emergencies. As an atheist in the Bible belt, I'm very passionate about impartiality and neutrality in particular! Maybe those are a subject of another blog post. </i>Lori Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05600443590399882818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5390111.post-2635659776673178372017-10-31T21:41:00.000-05:002017-10-31T21:41:33.646-05:00#ODP17: October Dress Project 2017<div style="text-align: left;">
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Since 2012, I've participated in the <a href="http://octoberdressproject.blogspot.com/p/about-and-faqs.html" target="_blank">October Dress Project</a>, with the exception of last year. (I was starting a new job and didn't think wearing the same day for my first 30 days would make the right impression.)<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The October Dress Project (ODP) motto is "<span style="background-color: white;">anti-consumerism, pro-simplicity, anti-conformity, pro-imagination." For 31 straight days, one wears the same dress (washing it often, yes), using imagination to keep it looking different each day. I've always enjoyed the challenge, but this year it was a lot harder. It was </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">fun, but my heart just wasn't in it, and I don't know if I'll do it again after this. I skipped a few weekend days this month for various reasons, though I diligently wore it to work every day. Still, I want to recap my month of anti-materialism and think on </span>any lessons I learned.</div>
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In all the other years, I felt I really learned something new during ODP. I think some of that came out of blogging every day or so; I would post a picture of the outfit then find something to write about to go along with it. I think the regular writing helped develop some lessons throughout the month. This year, however, other than posting daily in the ODP Facebook group, I didn't really want to post selfies every day for a month, so I didn't blog daily either.<br />
<br />Even still, I feel like this year, more than any other year, I really grasped the idea of anti-consumerism with this project. Most years, I've bought a dress specifically for ODP. This year, I realized how much that went against the whole idea of anti-consumerism in the first place, so I went closet shopping instead. I chose a gray dress from the back of my closet that I love but didn't wear often. It's a great dress to make The Dress - it's the right length, it fits nicely. (It's also very thick, I discovered, making it difficult to tuck into trousers and wear as a shirt.) Furthermore, I decided not to spend money on accessories for The Dress. I don't think I bought any all month, except a scarf that was in the $2 bin at Walmart. I just wore what I already had and made the most of it. Wasn't that supposed to be the point all along?<br />
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(I did take most of the weekends off. One weekend I was backpacking. Another I was cleaning a lot. I can't really account for every excuse I had over the four weekends of October, but I had them, and they generally weren't that good. But as for work days, I was pretty diligent.)<br />
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Besides some small lessons in anti-consumerism, did I learn anything else this time around? In past years, my new "theme" for the upcoming year generally emerged from ODP - simplicity, satisfaction, balance, etc. Did a theme emerge this year?<br /><br />Maybe not directly due to ODP, I think a theme I've found myself <i>re</i>visiting lately is satisfaction. Being satisfied not so much with what I <i>have</i> which is how I approached it last time, but by what I <i>am. </i>And <i>where</i> I am. Too often I feel unsatisfied with who I am, how I am, what I am, where I am. I'm always striving to be something bigger, something better - to be somewhere bigger and better. And that's not necessarily a bad thing, but when that means I'm never actually satisfied in the moment with myself, then I'm never going to enjoy the journey I'm taking as I move towards achieving those goals.<br />
<br />Live in the moments, I guess. Be satisfied with the now. Love myself for who I am today as well as who I'm hoping to become tomorrow. Love where I'm at today, and stop living only for the future. Perhaps there's even a little lesson in patience waiting there for me.<br />
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Satisfaction and patience. I think those sound like themes I could strive to live by for the next 12 months!<br />
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And who knows, maybe by the time next October rolls around, I'll be up for doing this project a 6th time. We'll see.<br />
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For those of you interested, enjoy the photos below!<br />
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Lori Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05600443590399882818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5390111.post-11148257084523889222017-10-05T01:12:00.002-05:002017-10-05T01:17:36.324-05:00Affecting Eternity: World Teachers' Day<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>A teacher affects eternity; he can never tell where his influence stops</i><i>.</i> - Henry Adams</div>
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Today is World Teachers' Day, and having had a lot of teachers myself, having teachers teach my kids, and being friends with a number of teachers, I want to give some shout outs to those teachers who have made the biggest impact on my life, my kids' lives and others.<br />
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The first teacher who truly made a significant impact on me was my third grade teacher, Mrs Hayden. I *loved* Mrs Hayden. When I entered third grade, I was already starting to enjoy reading, but Mrs Hayden cultivated in me an insatiable appetite for books that has persisted to this day. She would have special reading days planned, where we'd bring in sleeping bags, pillows and our favorite books, and spend half the day just reading on the floor, cozied up in our pallets. She also read to us - books that I've never forgotten like <i>Maniac Magee, Snot Stew, </i>and some book about a boy climbing a mountain and all the horrific things that happened to him and his fellow travelers. (I've got to ask her what the name of that book was.) She would sometimes let us bring in a book for her to read aloud to us, and she graciously tolerated my Babysitters Club books far more than she needed to. With her love of reading, can you see what an impact she made on me?!<br />
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Then there was Mrs Davis in 9th grade, affectionately referred to then and forever after as the Divine Mrs Lynn Davis by many of us AP English students. She had a passion for literature that was infectious, and my love of reading expanded to the classics, thanks to her. She made books like <i>Tess of the d'Ubervilles</i> and <i>Jane Eyre</i> come alive. She made grammar a priority and would not let anything slide. She pushed us to write better essays, and instilled in me the importance of a strong opening paragraph and an even stronger conclusion. To this day, I think of Mrs Davis every time I write. That opening line (while I don't always put the effort into it that I should - such as the extremely weak one in this post, "Today is World Teachers' Day") is always something I think about, and I remember her insistence that the opening paragraph capture the reader in a creative and magical way. The Divine Mrs Lynn Davis passed away several years ago, and I can speak for all of us who loved her so much that she will <i>never</i> be forgotten.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3MMpbYpgaesfAr7KTwFHxzVWPaiDcdpDg5UjF0uKiSF-4wB-4eLiESudN3MQNQWzYaYFXlfbD4tUXdLSLhC3gl1LThH8e9Z0Bil5lCPiilUOz6Toz1HJlwPW0Tk1bRis_DiHm/s1600/4782985892_11a97e6979_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="285" data-original-width="423" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3MMpbYpgaesfAr7KTwFHxzVWPaiDcdpDg5UjF0uKiSF-4wB-4eLiESudN3MQNQWzYaYFXlfbD4tUXdLSLhC3gl1LThH8e9Z0Bil5lCPiilUOz6Toz1HJlwPW0Tk1bRis_DiHm/s400/4782985892_11a97e6979_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Divine Mrs Lynn Davis</td></tr>
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Mrs Balgavy, now known as simply "Jane" to her former students was our GT teacher in junior high and our forensics and debate coach in high school. Mrs Balgavy took public speaking, acting and the theater extremely seriously, teaching us never to break character, never break the fourth wall, and to always be sure we <i>know our shit. </i> She taught us the proper attire to wear to a theater production. She also had a zero tolerance policy on alcohol, drugs and smoking, putting the fear of God in us if ever we should step out. She taught us to fake-it-til-you-make-it, a skill that I honed and practiced for five years under her guidance. All those skills I learned from her, including how to overcome stage fright, how to speak extemporaneously, and how to convince anyone of anything you are passionate about, are skills I use every single day of my adult life.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjclBnSWyC-J8KvczxkcCx-SN809P4UzK7GW2uGHGzIqQlLvfYKWluVRhyNtrjLgiQKxvDyxHbD58GbPUt1rRoQhwVYjUGCtNq2KfVBZVNPsK3fO6cbOywAMWY_YKmg3h81HALv/s1600/6644088203_3a670c5498_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjclBnSWyC-J8KvczxkcCx-SN809P4UzK7GW2uGHGzIqQlLvfYKWluVRhyNtrjLgiQKxvDyxHbD58GbPUt1rRoQhwVYjUGCtNq2KfVBZVNPsK3fO6cbOywAMWY_YKmg3h81HALv/s400/6644088203_3a670c5498_b.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Forensics coaches Jane Balgavy and Ashley Wyatt</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
In college, I had a series of professors who also shaped my writing skills and love of literature and reading. Dr Candido made me fall in love with Shakespeare. The way he read passages aloud to us with such conviction and passion made Shakespeare waltz into the twenty-first century and capture our attention. (Not to mention, Dr Candido was ridiculously sexy to me, with his bowties and bald head, and the way he propped his foot up on a chair as he leaned in on his knee towards us to really emphasize a beautiful line or a significant point... ahhh. I loved him.) My creative writing professors, Skip Hays, Davis McCombs and Michael Heffernan all taught me to be a better writer in so many ways. While I still think I graduated college with a very pretentious writing style, the lessons they each taught with me have never left, and I continue to learn from them even now. Avoiding cliches, imagining creative metaphors, and incorporating intelligent allusions are things I consider every time I write. Again, I don't always adhere to those standards in blogging, but they are on my mind every single time!<br />
<br />
I know I've left out a number of other teachers who impacted me in significant ways. Mrs Hirsch who I had for math at least three times and who tried her damnedest to teach me pre-algebra, algebra and geometry with all her might, Ms Ursery who tried her damnedest to teach me chemistry, Dr MacRae who was a crazy lady with an obsession for all things Scottish and took me to my first Burns Supper, and Dr Cochran who taught the most interesting college class I ever took: Folk & Popular Music Traditions. These are just a few of the teachers I had in my life who have shaped me into who I am today.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp8UcDv189vZFhbOe4n63BNR8pM2hflvJRz8ueD2GKKa0a3dga4VjaPIs0WxTwD7nDXm4oy81i7NN5fSevKvMFFAQ_AJpmLd8YyPB5WAnB3cWRhsZFOZ5goknAq-FYB7xsv-PL/s1600/9507803631_57430a659c_k.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp8UcDv189vZFhbOe4n63BNR8pM2hflvJRz8ueD2GKKa0a3dga4VjaPIs0WxTwD7nDXm4oy81i7NN5fSevKvMFFAQ_AJpmLd8YyPB5WAnB3cWRhsZFOZ5goknAq-FYB7xsv-PL/s200/9507803631_57430a659c_k.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fifi, Mrs McArthur & Lolly</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_cmOgkPvH1xAJaswdK-0dNMUkS__q3ilOtStdv9ARuYSUsFiXkHU5x6wr5gKom5r7ULJ3-uehbOYFrie0DXZFPNw9ipVpXRF-hIoT1UtnxVrvtes-zJlHOxj5rPePJz6EYcwa/s1600/9507810775_489f011169_k.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_cmOgkPvH1xAJaswdK-0dNMUkS__q3ilOtStdv9ARuYSUsFiXkHU5x6wr5gKom5r7ULJ3-uehbOYFrie0DXZFPNw9ipVpXRF-hIoT1UtnxVrvtes-zJlHOxj5rPePJz6EYcwa/s200/9507810775_489f011169_k.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mrs Campbell & Lolly</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My kids now have teachers who are shaping them too. They will learn something from all of them but, like me, will remember some of them more acutely and more fondly than others. For me, I'll never forget Fifi and Lolly's Gaelic teachers at Highlanders Academy and Whinhill Primary, Mrs MacLeod, Mrs Campbell and Mrs McArthur. Mrs MacLeod had my five year old Fifi speaking fluent Gaelic by the end of P1; how amazing is that? She taught with a firm yet motherly approach, and every child in her class adored her. Leaving Scotland and the Gaelic unit was one of the hardest decisions we ever had to make. A part of me will always feel a small pang of regret that our kids didn't get to finish Gaelic medium education. Mrs MacLeod has now retired, and I cannot thank her enough for the amazing start she gave to my daughter's education.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiHwKd7tvmItsElTzNl1HSd5_upHY2Iewyk5zv7_YVF90nUHyBGYSNZV9DJCAck8gSt0Ib2JqdGKW1BJbBMaDJRWw-vA646VhO9VfDYsDfOPadolimJc6HJApbI1iqZXbgVsTj/s1600/IMG_4836.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiHwKd7tvmItsElTzNl1HSd5_upHY2Iewyk5zv7_YVF90nUHyBGYSNZV9DJCAck8gSt0Ib2JqdGKW1BJbBMaDJRWw-vA646VhO9VfDYsDfOPadolimJc6HJApbI1iqZXbgVsTj/s400/IMG_4836.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jaguar & his kindergarten teacher Ms Wilson</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Through the years, my kids have already had some awesome teachers, and this year is no different. They are patient, firm, encouraging and challenging to our three children. How can I ever express my deepest gratitude for what they do every single day to educate my kids?<br />
<br />
And finally, I can't forget my friends who have chosen education as their careers. It's not the most lucrative career they could've chosen. It can certainly be thankless, and I imagine there are days (weeks? months?) where the pressure and stress is overwhelming. But for whatever their own personal reasons, they keep doing it, they choose year after year to spend their days educating the next generation and future leaders of our society, hoping that something will stick and they will make some kind of impact on some student's life. It's one of the most selfless and most difficult jobs in the world, and probably one of the most underappreciated.<br />
<br />
So today, on this 5th of October, World Teachers' Day, I offer my appreciation to my own past teachers, my children's past, present and future teachers, and my friends who have made teaching their chosen professions. You are all amazing and deserve every bit of gratitude, support and appreciation there is to offer. You also all deserve raises. And longer planning periods. And smaller classes. And more resources and materials that don't come out of your own pockets. You deserve pencils, for heaven's sake. And wine. Lots and lots of wine.<br />
<br />
(I can't help with most of those things, but can probably help with the pencils and wine. Just let me know what you need, guys.)<br />
<br />
So to educators everywhere - Happy World Teachers' Day. You are the best of the best.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Most of us end up with no more than five or six people </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>who remember us. </i><i>Teachers have thousands of people </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>who rememb</i><i>er them </i><i>for the rest of their lives. </i>- Andy Rooney</div>
Lori Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05600443590399882818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5390111.post-11668452267992766272017-09-26T10:20:00.000-05:002017-09-28T14:14:21.267-05:00What Red Cross Stats Don't Show<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR6S3iuJS1eVsHIhx6JJFcwLb7UIRm4zQ4gzaYJBjT4w20-dIZyQlWf6dOPIo1QwSw07E2Pf3hnMOd9PXfUrwaR-jQChyphenhyphenM26LmqHIMPj34CrKh7AbGQCt4baK0UOdJaJr0Trco/s1600/7169.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1280" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR6S3iuJS1eVsHIhx6JJFcwLb7UIRm4zQ4gzaYJBjT4w20-dIZyQlWf6dOPIo1QwSw07E2Pf3hnMOd9PXfUrwaR-jQChyphenhyphenM26LmqHIMPj34CrKh7AbGQCt4baK0UOdJaJr0Trco/s400/7169.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Help is here!"</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>[Full disclosure: I am employed by the American Red Cross.] </i></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m not a numbers person. Once you get past totals I can visualize
– 20 or 50 – I stop comprehending the scope of what large numbers are meant to
represent. So when I report that to date the <a href="http://redcross.org/" target="_blank">American Red Cross</a> has served over 3.8 million meals and snacks to victims of Hurricanes Harvey, Irma and Maria*,
all I know is </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">that’s a lot.</i><span style="font-family: inherit;"> But I
can’t really process what that looks like. I don’t think any of us can.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Last week I spent 9 days in Ft Myers, supporting the Red Cross
relief efforts in Southwest Florida after Hurricane Irma made landfall on
September 10th. I spent a lot of time tracking down daily stats like “over 1
million overnight stays in shelters” and “provided more than 118,000 mental
health and health services”. I knew our 4 large-scale outdoor kitchens that we
run in partnership with the <a href="https://www.namb.net/send-relief/disaster-relief" target="_blank">Southern Baptist Disaster Relief </a>were turning out “tens
of thousands of meals a day”. I could see the enormous ovens cooking giant vats
of mashed potatoes and green beans, and I could certainly smell the tantalizing
scent of roast beef from the McGregor Baptist Church parking lot, where Kitchen
2 was set up. Kitchen 2 had the capacity to produce 20,000 meals per day. That
sounds like a lot! But even seeing the hundreds of red cambros, the insulated
boxes that keep the food hot for hours at a time, lined up on pallets in front
of multiple emergency response vehicles (ERVs), I still couldn’t visualize what
kind of number we were really talking about.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">While in Ft Myers, I ran into another volunteer from my home region,
Oklahoma-Arkansas. Rick Umstead had deployed to Ft Myers as an ERV driver. His
job was to serve lunch and dinner to neighborhoods that were significantly
affected by Hurricane Irma. He and his partner Dave from Colorado would arrive
at Kitchen 2 around 8am and give ERV 2121 a good clean – mopping, disinfecting,
tidying and restocking supplies like plastic cutlery and “clamshells”, the
Styrofoam boxes used for handing out meals. Around 10am, the ERV drivers would
begin loading their trucks with cambros for lunch, enough food for about 500
meals per ERV. They would then drive off on their respective routes, whether to
neighborhoods identified as needing assistance or to one of the many Red Cross
shelters being managed in Southwest Florida. Rick and Dave would deliver their
500 meals and would not return to the kitchen until their cambros were empty. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">By the time Rick and Dave returned from the lunch run, usually
around 3-3:30pm, it was time to unload the empty cambros and reload the truck
for dinner. By 4 or so they’d be back on their way again, serving another 500
meals, often not returning until 10 at night. Upon return, they unloaded the
empty cambros again, cleared out the ERV, and headed off to bed, knowing the
next day they’d be back at the kitchen at 8am, ready to do the same thing all
over again. Kitchen 2 had at least 6 or more ERVs in operation every day, with
at least two volunteers per vehicle. Rick and Dave, like many other ERV
drivers, had committed to spending two weeks in Ft Myers doing this work. Some
volunteers committed more. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">To me, 500 meals twice a day per ERV sounded like a lot, but how
many meals is that really? I got to find out on Thursday, when I asked them if
I could join them for their dinner routes. “If you ride with us, we’re putting
you to work!” they said. And that’s exactly what I intended to do!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkixuMdM5j2yTZZbhsTH4l59FX3MEflMQDcuJ4OTS2ZT43I3N0u2zzqFqC_tigcU5VJI3Wt598KYCMxSQlzCVSgpnaCi7AtiXtIfmq0yDn8zTIDCSJHchbTF9SPL1IdPyUgXT0/s1600/7344.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkixuMdM5j2yTZZbhsTH4l59FX3MEflMQDcuJ4OTS2ZT43I3N0u2zzqFqC_tigcU5VJI3Wt598KYCMxSQlzCVSgpnaCi7AtiXtIfmq0yDn8zTIDCSJHchbTF9SPL1IdPyUgXT0/s320/7344.jpeg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">I rode in the back of the ERV in the seat by the serving window.
(It has a seatbelt, in case you’re wondering.) We drove about half an hour away
into a neighborhood in Lehigh, where we began our slow progression through the
neighborhoods, beeping the horn and calling out over the loudspeaker, “Red
Cross, food and water! <i><span style="background: white; color: #212121;">¡</span>Comida y agua!</i>” I put on a
pair of clean plastic food handling gloves to serve the clamshells and bottles
of water out the window, while Rick filled each compartment with food and
handed the clamshell to me to finish and close. After a short while, we got a
system going – he’d spoon out the main meal items, pass the clamshell to me,
and I’d add the condiment packets, cutlery packets and dessert, then pass out
through the window to families who came out of their homes – most still without
power and many damaged by fallen trees and hurricane-force wind – to get a
free, hot meal and a cold(ish) bottle of water. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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I was struck by the various reactions of the people we
served. Some were hesitant to accept a free meal, as if not sure it was really
free. A few people shared their stories with me, and a few even cried as they
thanked us. Many were modest and only requested meals for their children, not
themselves. Some thought they had to pay us. Many families only spoke Spanish
in this neighborhood (while in other neighborhoods, there would have been many
Creole speakers too), so I learned to say things like “<span lang="ES" style="color: #212121; mso-ansi-language: ES;">¿</span><i>Cu</i><i><span lang="ES" style="color: #212121; mso-ansi-language: ES;">á</span>ntos</i>?” (“How many”?), “<i>Es gratis</i>” (“It’s free”) and “<i>Tenemos mucha comida</i>” (“We have lots of food”)
to explain that there was plenty for the adults in the household too. I quickly
learned to trust my instincts and insist sometimes on handing out the extra meals
and waters to those who would rather go without than appear greedy. Some felt
they needed to explain why they were needing more meals than it appeared they should.
I told them we’d give them whatever they needed. All were grateful.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuO_N9HNyxLG0a7gxDvzPr6Ht9GovPrwY1Rx_NAsnn2QwTrzQXMtzFyBee37kVFnD1Wq96NJ-Sj4rq9KEFDLg4xwTOCcqiBPTOWQEoKbNMJkHsfpGbOLTNgcyq1A0FhzgohBUy/s1600/7345.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuO_N9HNyxLG0a7gxDvzPr6Ht9GovPrwY1Rx_NAsnn2QwTrzQXMtzFyBee37kVFnD1Wq96NJ-Sj4rq9KEFDLg4xwTOCcqiBPTOWQEoKbNMJkHsfpGbOLTNgcyq1A0FhzgohBUy/s320/7345.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div>
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After handing out what felt like at least a hundred meals, I
looked at the clock. We’d only been at it for an hour. There were still five
cambros of food left, and we were nowhere near done. We had only hit less than
half the neighborhood, and it wasn’t the only neighborhood on our route. I
continued to add the condiments, cutlery and desserts to clamshells and hand
them out the window for another hour or so. Then we swapped jobs, and I began
ladling out the food. Trying to get the proportions right ended up more an art
than a science. I wanted to make sure we had enough to complete all 500 meals
but not be so conservative that the meals were skimpy and we’d end up with
anything left over. I filled clamshell after clamshell, each time trying to get
it just right. It was tiring work!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Though it was getting dark, we didn’t want to leave any
neighborhood until we were sure everyone had been served. We ended up finishing
our routes a little earlier than Dave and Rick had the previous nights; having
an extra pair of hands seemed to help move the process along a little faster.
We finally returned to Kitchen 2 a little before 9pm to unload the empty
cambros, clean the serving utensils, through away the trash and get ERV 2121
ready to do the same thing again the next morning.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
500 meals suddenly had real meaning to me. It’s <i>a lot.</i> And that was only dinner; Dave and
Rick had already served another 500 lunches only hours before I joined them and
had been at this already for seven days straight. Their next day was to be
their first day off since arriving in Ft Myers.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Like so much in disaster relief, nothing is as simple as it
appears from the outside. “Tens of thousands of meals a day” is a lot, but what
gets lost in those grandiose numbers is the individuality of where each of
those meals went. Did seven meals go to a family of migrant workers in Bonita
Springs who had been without air conditioning or refrigeration for almost two
weeks? Did four meals go to a single mother and her three small children
sleeping in a shelter in Immokalee after their home flooded? Did one meal go to
the lady who was scheduled for a lung bypass surgery just days after the
hurricane hit and now had no power in her home? Did three meals go to three
children while the parents watched hungrily on, afraid to ask for the extra two
meals to avoid taking too much?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And what about the volunteers? When we say there are more
than 2,380 volunteers responding right now to Hurricanes Irma and Maria, we
lose the individuality of each volunteer and what they gave up to be there.
Some are retired and have left their spouses, grandchildren and perhaps ailing
parents for two weeks. Some requested PTO from their employers to spend their
vacation time volunteering. Some, like me, left small children at home with the
other parent or with another caregiver to spend time serving in the disaster
zone. One man I met runs his own business and turns down contracts during
hurricane season so he can spend most of the late summer and fall months
responding to disasters. Each volunteer that deploys to work on a disaster
relief operation works late hours for days on end fulfilling their small part
of the bigger Red Cross mission to alleviate human suffering in the face of
emergencies. Sometimes those jobs are tedious; sometimes they are frustrating;
sometimes they don’t go as smoothly as we’d like them to. Sometimes, those jobs
are emotionally overwhelming, seeing from the ground level just how enormous
the needs are. For me, seeing the flooded and storm damaged homes in person,
talking to the mother whose young family has suddenly become homeless, holding
the hand of the elderly lady as tears fall down her cheeks, or handing the
bottle of cold water to the child whose eyes glitter with gratitude made very
real and personal the disaster I’d only experienced through segments and
soundbites on the evening news. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Big numbers serve a purpose. They illustrate to donors where
their money is being spent. They quantify the work being done on a large scale.
But they miss individuality of each person served, each person who received one
of those 3.8 million meals or who slept in a cot during one of those 1 million
overnight shelter stays. Disaster relief is complex, much more so than I’d ever
realized before, and sometimes the response feels like more of an art than a
science. Focusing on statistics with big numbers makes it easy to ignore the
complexity or forget each individual who receives one of our services. But what
I realized during my short time in Ft Myers is that what matters most to the
people we serve is that someone showed up during their darkest hour and
provided that meal or that shelter to sleep in or a hand to hold, and <b>that is
something that the Red Cross can’t measure in numbers. </b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i style="text-align: start;">*All stats referenced are actual Red Cross service delivery stats as of 9/24/17.</i></div>
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<i style="text-align: start;">This story is cross posted on the <a href="https://arredcross.wordpress.com/2017/09/28/red-cross-service-delivery-after-hurricane-irma/" target="_blank">Arkansas Red Alert</a> and <a href="https://okrecover.wordpress.com/2017/09/28/red-cross-service-delivery-after-hurricane-irma/" target="_blank">Oklahoma Red Alert</a> blogs.</i></div>
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Lori Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05600443590399882818noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5390111.post-925246016571135352017-09-08T03:00:00.000-05:002017-09-08T03:04:38.308-05:00Choose Your Own TitleThere were numerous things I could've titled this blog post.<br />
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<i>The $25k Nose Ring</i><br />
<i>The Post That Poses the Risk of My Parents Not Talking to Me For the Next Six Months</i><br />
<i>Nothing Good Happens After Midnight</i><br />
<i>My Cosmic Boyfriend</i><br />
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I feel like I should take a vote on which title works best.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2ilzMCm1KwaT_CXwunNhdauitkxoxRKPxUaKpiKeZH0_i-HMsoAGpPQkgkujVtc7MV2LCbMjHWAIZHLYkIORxYOKHyBovrON6Kjz_fkZFse3GyPYOo_lMlrH8rtAvwhLB9dUB/s1600/nose+ring.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2ilzMCm1KwaT_CXwunNhdauitkxoxRKPxUaKpiKeZH0_i-HMsoAGpPQkgkujVtc7MV2LCbMjHWAIZHLYkIORxYOKHyBovrON6Kjz_fkZFse3GyPYOo_lMlrH8rtAvwhLB9dUB/s400/nose+ring.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Twenty-two year old Lori wearing a really expensive nose ring</td></tr>
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Tonight, I'd like to start with a little story. Follow me on this journey back to 1997, when I was 15 years old.<br />
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I wanted a nose ring <i>so bad, </i>but I was 15 so my parents justifiably said<b> </b>Not A Chance, You Have Enough Holes In Your Head, that sort of thing. So I bought myself a little magnetic nose ring that looked like a stud on the outside and had a magnetic backing that went inside the nostril. I looked <i>hip AF</i>, y'all.<br />
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Until that fateful afternoon, while taking a test in Mrs Norman's AP English class, when I sniffed too hard and sucked the magnetic backing all the way up my nostril. I began to snort and sputter in the middle of a silent testing classroom atmosphere and became the sudden object of everyone's delighted interest. It was certainly more interesting to watch me hyperventilate than to answer essay question's about <i>Young Goodman Brown, </i>but I did not look very hip that day.<br />
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I still wanted a nose ring though. I went away to college and met the coolest girl ever one Sunday at church. Her name was (and still is, presumably) Kanyon. She was a year or two older than me and had the most adorable silver hoop in her nose. I knew then that it wasn't a stud I wanted in my nose but a hoop like Kanyon's. (I'm willing to bet Kanyon is probably still one of the coolest girls alive, wherever she is.)<br />
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But I was 18 or 19, and my parents said No Way, You'll Look Like a Bull, And Besides, If You Pierce Your Nose We'll Stop Paying For Your College, that sort of thing.<br />
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But I still wanted that nose ring. One afternoon, my college BFF Amanda and my roommate Jonathan decided they were going to get pierced. Amanda wanted an eyebrow ring and Jonathan wanted a double helix. I accompanied them to get their piercings and was green with envy. I wanted my nose done so badly!<br />
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A few days later, just around my 20th birthday, I got to chatting about wanting a nose ring with my friend <a href="https://amberchaines.com/" target="_blank">Amber</a> after our poetry class. (I'll always remember her beautiful poem about artichoke hearts. No seriously, it was beautiful.) She was like, "Let's go do it for your birthday!" and I was like, "Okay let's go do it!" So Amber and I went to get my nose pierced.<br />
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I<b> LOVED</b> it.<br />
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Guess who didn't love it though? My parents. They said You Look Like a You Got A Fish Hook Stuck In Your Nose and By the Way We Are Going To Stop Paying For Your College Because We Warned You And Now We Have To Be Consistent Because That's What Good Parents Do.<br />
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And y'all, <i>they did.</i><br />
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(Are you starting to catch on to some of my potential titles now? <i>The $25k Nose Ring.</i>)<br />
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That was my sophomore year of college. The following two years were suddenly entirely up to me to finance. So I did. I increased my student loans to the max. I got two jobs, one working at JR's Lightbulb Club and Dickson Theater as the door girl and one working for the University of Arkansas Development Office. (It was while working in development that I had my first experience with the professional implications of having a body piercing. I was originally asked to take it out since I'd be interfacing with major gift donors, but after sharing my story with the Vice Chancellor of Development, she agreed that it was indeed a pricey piece of jewelry and settled with me changing it out for a stud.)<br />
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Let's journey through the remainder of my 20s and into my mid 30s, back to the present. I've been paying off these student loans for fifteen years, which by the way, is nothing compared to what students only five or so years after me began looking at. The kids who came up behind me have gotten royally screwed on college tuition. Anyway, here I am, 35 years old, still wearing my nose ring and still paying off my student debt. But there's a happy ending to this story. I looked up my loan repayment plan a few weeks ago and discovered that I only have THREE months left before my student loan is entirely paid off!<br />
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By the end of 2017, I will have officially paid off this nose ring. And you know what? I'm still going to wear it. Because I <b>LOVE</b> it. Even if I do Look Like a Bull or a Hooked Fish or a Jezebel or Oh I Don't Know, Rebekah By the Well?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivxdrfoEuk67sQnbjcx_A3xYZFcfK-nYxzfB72ods2WxE7AUAVTfE9F9Vn0dAhbOKLt3466OVPTDjK894DpsswXFPn60_MuV93oNwjd3WvMmXpeoKJyrRlS3NwxwVzsF_GPk1-/s1600/IMG_4905.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivxdrfoEuk67sQnbjcx_A3xYZFcfK-nYxzfB72ods2WxE7AUAVTfE9F9Vn0dAhbOKLt3466OVPTDjK894DpsswXFPn60_MuV93oNwjd3WvMmXpeoKJyrRlS3NwxwVzsF_GPk1-/s400/IMG_4905.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thirty-five year old Lori still wearing a really expensive nose ring</td></tr>
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Okay now. I'm going to get a little more serious now. In telling that nose ring story I had another purpose. One less jovial.<br />
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I'll tell another story briefly. Journey with me back to the end of August 2017. (Yeah, like two weeks ago.) On August 29th, I got in a car accident, a hit and run, and my brand new car, only purchased two weeks prior, got smashed on the driver's side, and though I was mostly uninjured, it has caused me a lot of pain and angst over the past week. Meanwhile, Hurricane Harvey was in the process of devastating Houston, Beaumont and many other parts of Texas. I was in the process of raising money for the Red Cross's response to the hurricane, which was the worst hurricane to hit landfall in over a decade, and the largest natural disaster the Red Cross has ever responded to. The car accident was really bad timing, meaning for the week that followed, I was unable to do my job effectively during an extremely crucial time. Yesterday was the first day I felt fairly normal again, despite the pain.<br />
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Today, barely a month later, Hurricane Irma swirls and heads for the continental US (and has already decimated small Caribbean islands in its path), and many of us at the Red Cross are gearing up for more disaster deployments, including myself. I've been doing everything possible to get my pain under control and get my work taken care of so I can be ready to go if or when they give me my 24 hour notice. Being a single mom now, that's no easy uncertainty to plan for. (Giving a shout out to Scott and my mom right now for both being extremely flexible with me right now regarding the children!) Amidst all of this though, and after an extremely draining day of work, I witnessed a car accident on my way home this evening right in front of me on the same freeway my accident occurred on just last week. I was one car behind the accident, and the thought of almost being in a second accident within ten days of each other has left me terrified to get behind the wheel again. What is this, <i>Final Destination</i>? Is death following me now?<br />
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That's the joke I made to my mom on the phone tonight. But her response wasn't so flippant. "No, this is God trying to get your attention. He's saying, 'I've been wrapping on your door for a long time, and you haven't been listening!'"<br />
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Of course I know where she's coming from, and I know she made this comment with the purest of intentions. I know she's only concerned for my eternal security. (And let me say again, she's being so helpful with childcare! This is <i>The Post That Poses the Risk of My Parents Not Talking to Me For Six Months. </i>I'm treading on thin ice here by posting this. I'm cruisin' for a bruisin', I'm itchin' for a switchin'.) But if she's right, does God really have such terrible timing? I mean, car accidents and deployments and devastating natural disasters, oh my! Is all of this necessary to just get my attention?<br />
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I mean, I guess he could he have just revealed himself to me six years ago when I begged and pleaded and cried out to him for faith. But maybe that wasn't part of his divine plan.<br />
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It's past 1pm now. Hence <i>Nothing Good Happens After Midnight. </i>I have this theory that nothing good happens after midnight, and that goes for blogging. I tend to lose my filter after midnight, tend to make less than prudent decisions, sometimes say or do things I wouldn't do before midnight. So I need to be careful what I say here. I used to feel more free to talk about my lack of faith in any religion or gods, but that was before I realized just how badly being an atheist can damage my credibility or even my career. (However, I continue to be open about my beliefs, or lack thereof, because I just don't see why anyone should have to hide who they are, particularly because of what religion they are or aren't. If other people are allowed to speak freely about their faith, surely the faithless should have the same opportunity to speak freely? But now I've just chased a squirrel. Coming back now.)<br />
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Back to the divine plan. I just don't understand this logic at all, of why God would need to send bad things my way in order to get my attention. I don't think I really understood it as a Christian either. Why would God need to use grandiose overtures to entice me back into the fold? Can't he just do it the normal way? I spent three years begging him to restore my faith. Was there any reason he couldn't have done it back then? Maybe there is some kind of super special glory he'll get from refusing to answer my cries for three years, leave me to become an atheist for three years, then suddenly hit me with a car accident (and the threat of another) in order to bring me back to him. In the midst of hurricanes, no less.<br />
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I just don't get it. This accident kept me from being able to really do my job well during the most critical week of my professional career thus far, and more importantly, during a time when thousands of people are hurting and really need as much relief and support as possible and would benefit from me and all the rest of the Red Cross family being at our best for them. Just seems kind of --- mean.<br />
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So I'll assume for a moment the existence of God - the Christian God - is a given. And that he is trying to get my attention so he can save my soul. Because he loves me, right?<br />
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But wait, did he not love me six years ago? When I was in a place of being open and receptive to his existence and influence? Why wait until now? For whatever reason though, he loves me now and only wants to save my soul from eternal damnation.<br />
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Which he designed.<br />
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As punishment for not having faith in him.<br />
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Faith which he alone gives or withholds.<br />
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He wants to put me in dangerous and precarious situations in order to scare me into faith so he can save me from the punishment he designed for me should I not get scared enough to find faith in him that only he can give anyway. I just don't get it.<br />
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Let me take you on one last journey. This is into a hypothetical, nonexistent time in my past. Maybe it's an alternate reality. Anyway, in this parallel, not-real universe, I was dating this guy who really, really loved me. But he had this propensity for constantly testing my love for him in return. He would tell me bad things about myself but remind me that he loved me so much, he could fix those bad things and make me better. I knew he was right; I was pretty shitty, but wow, the way he could fix all those shitty things about me was inspiring! He would also sometimes put me in danger - but never <i>real</i> danger, because he was looking after me the whole time - to see if I could really trust him enough to take care of me. And every time he did that, I really did come out safe in the end, and he really did use that to prove how much he loved me and would always save me from harm. I was<i> so</i> <i>in love</i> with this guy, and he was <i>so in love </i>with me back.<br />
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There were some hard times. He often gave me the silent treatment. I was never entirely sure if it was because of something I'd done wrong or if he was just trying to test my love again. Most of the time he'd eventually break the silence, but not until after I'd begged and cried and pleaded with him with all my might. Then he would soften, lift me up off my knees, and hold me. It made everything okay again when he did that. I knew he loved me. This guy, y'all, was the most loving, perfect boyfriend I've ever had. His name was Jesus, and he was <i>My Cosmic Boyfriend.</i><br />
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Oh, did I say this was a nonexistent, hypothetical scenario? I apologize. It wasn't.<br />
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My Cosmic Boyfriend ultimately wanted to save me from eternal ruin. He always knew what was best for me, despite my own petty desires. Kind of like when I was 15, and my parents understandably felt that getting a nose ring was not appropriate for me at that time. My Cosmic Boyfriend threatened me with hell if I didn't obey him. My parents threatened me with no more college tuition. My Cosmic Boyfriend needed to be consistent with his word, just like my good old mom and dad. He had threatened me with hell, so he kind of had to go through with it at that point, since he'd already said it and all. Consistency is key.<br />
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The story of my nose ring and my parents is kind of funny to me, in a OMG I Still Can't Believe They Actually Went Through With It kind of way. It's funny to me in a This Is A Great Story To Tell At Parties kind of way. And though it had some long-standing, less than humorous ramifications - fifteen years of student loan repayment during the brokest years of this millennial's life - it's really in the grand scheme of things not the worst a child should have to endure. A punishment, yes, but nothing serious.<br />
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Not like the eternal punishment of hell for not being able to force myself to believe in something I simply could no longer believe in, no matter how hard I tried. We aren't talking fifteen years of faith repayment, but an <i>eternity. In hell</i> of all places<i>.</i><br />
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For all the joking about my parents and the nose ring, I know how much my parents love me. They have always protected me and wanted what's best for me. They went over and above to make things happen for me all through my childhood that they certainly were not required to do, just because they loved me. They provided for me, they kept me out of danger, they played the tricky tightrope of letting me learn from my own mistakes while always being ready to catch my fall. They never tested my love for them, because that would never have even occurred to them. They loved me unconditionally. They have always loved me without reserve, even now, as the atheist daughter, the One That Turned Away, the one that breaks their hearts daily as they fear for my soul. I don't fault my mom at all for how she perceives the events of the past few weeks; she <i>loves</i> me and wants me to see the God she sees and at the end of the day, she <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5n8REdPX3UA" target="_blank">only wants to see me there</a>.<br />
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My earthly parents get what love is. My Cosmic Boyfriend, not so much. If My Cosmic Boyfriend was a regular human boyfriend, everyone I know would be begging me to leave him and escape our abusive relationship. But since he's Cosmic, his ways are higher than my ways, and trying to get my attention with car accidents and hurricanes is no different than pulling my ponytail and tying my shoe laces together. Harmless boys-will-be-boys pranks. It's all just meant to show me he likes me after all. And it's all just meant to save me from the eternal ruin he has planned for me if I don't return his phone calls or agree to wear his ring. True love, right? The stuff of Disney princesses.<br />
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I just don't think that's the kind of love I deserve. I think I deserve better. If my parents know it would be cruel to orchestrate a car accident or a hurricane in order to get me to answer the door, surely an omnipotent, loving God would see the cruelty in that too. It might have been a cute story if he just made me take out a few loans to pay for the sin of disobedience, but the story becomes not quite so cute when you realize the wages of sin is <i>death</i> and his punishment of choice is eternal damnation.Lori Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05600443590399882818noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5390111.post-18552979999582584482017-08-14T22:56:00.001-05:002017-08-14T23:10:30.243-05:00Self-Esteem: The S Word<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVApnl2SKQbcO7LhfGJn_LcWAhnvCMgxlj5T52lsf0JavT0M84tQP6tHIpOhkj-BQ2ZJIQZGvUeB3GU1xiOIF1LUXcrHjFle6nbHDfyPNL5avLLp71RzXho-H2p5O2Z2qTSTti/s1600/board-2433993_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="874" data-original-width="1600" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVApnl2SKQbcO7LhfGJn_LcWAhnvCMgxlj5T52lsf0JavT0M84tQP6tHIpOhkj-BQ2ZJIQZGvUeB3GU1xiOIF1LUXcrHjFle6nbHDfyPNL5avLLp71RzXho-H2p5O2Z2qTSTti/s400/board-2433993_1920.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I remember hearing once when I was a child - in a sermon or a Sunday school lesson or maybe a home group Bible study - that self-esteem should never be a focus in raising children. Making a point to raise a child's self-esteem was teaching them to look inside <i>themselves</i> for worth instead of finding it the Lord. Teach children to find their worth in Jesus, and they will instead develop a sense of value far greater than any "self-esteem" or "self help" book ever could.<br />
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I don't think this a mainstream Christian teaching, but that message stuck with me for a very long time. It's incredible how one little message, as off base as it may be, can shape the way you view yourself. The term "self-esteem" was a bit of a dirty word to me growing up, and I avoided it. In fact, any "self" word, unless it was self-denial or self-control, carried bad connotations for me. In all my formative years, I shunned the concept of self-esteem as New Age hocus pocus. As I grew older, I rarely talked about my self-esteem but couched the concept in euphemisms like "worth" or "significance" found in Christ. Mentioning any problems with my self-esteem felt too focused on <i>me</i> and not focused enough on the Savior in whom my worth was found. If I had a "self-esteem" problem, it was more likely that what I really had was a pride and sin problem.</div>
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I think even the healthiest of us struggle with self-esteem. We have all received messages through our lives that have told us we are not good enough at this or not important enough for that. Too fat, too skinny, too stupid, too nerdy, too bossy, too sensitive. How can anyone deflect all the messages that are thrown at us all the time by everyone and everything around us? But even more so, when the very foundation of your belief system is based on the message that you are inherently wicked, how can you possibly develop any kind of self-love? </div>
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For years, I believed my worth was entirely found in Christ. Without Christ, I was worthless and depraved, my good deeds were like filthy rags. These were the more sophisticated messages I absorbed as I grew into an adult. As a child, I just knew I was a sinner that needed to be saved. As I grew in my faith and in my study of Scripture, I internalized these foundational messages about my origins to immunize myself against pride and any truly self-centered esteem I may have for myself. The term "self-esteem" no longer seemed a dirty word, just a very worldly way of trying to fill the hole of depravity in ourselves that only Christ could fill.</div>
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My "self" esteem was actually "salvation" esteem. So when I lost my faith, I also lost my source of value. </div>
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When your self-esteem is built upon a strong foundation of self-denial, self-deprecation, or even self-loathing, and is designed by materials that come from a source outside yourself, you are at risk of collapse. If your self-worth is built from someone else's view of you - a significant other, a parent, a deity - and that external source of worth falters or disappears from your life, you will be lost. When I my source of esteem disintegrated, I had no idea who I was or where my value came from. Without Christ, I believed I was nothing! I went through a period of time feeling very lost and purposeless. I had faced the fact that I didn't believe in God anymore, but even though I could see my past worth had been based on something unreal, I was still left with an emptiness I could not fill. It still seemed so self-centered and arrogant to assume I could find worth from within myself, but if it wasn't in God either, could I possibly be worth anything at all?</div>
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I no longer found worth in Christ but still saw myself as intensely wicked. I wanted to explore aspects of myself that had always been deemed sinful and displeasing to God, but I couldn't do so without hating myself for having those feelings or questions. Without the Bible telling me these things were wrong, I was able to evaluate so many things through a different, more objective lens, but not without guilt and shame. </div>
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I've talked about it before, because it was such a liberating moment, but things began to change with the simple lyrics to a song* I had been listening to:</div>
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<i>But luckily I held out long enough to see</i></div>
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<i>everybody really makes their own destiny.</i></div>
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<i>It's a beautiful thing.</i></div>
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<i>It's just you and me, exactly where we belong,</i></div>
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<i><b>and there's nothing inherently wrong with us.</b></i></div>
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Suddenly it all fell into place. Not only could I put away the judgment and guilt I'd heaped upon myself for all those years, but I could put away the very notion that I was born depraved and sinful. I had the capacity to make decisions for myself, good or bad. I had the sense to figure out what made something good or bad. I began to redefine all "good and evil" in very basic terms - is it harmful to others or myself? Are there negative consequences that will outweight the benefits? Realizing that I was capable in and of myself to make good choices and <i>be</i> a good human being were the first seeds of true self-esteem building for me.</div>
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I look at my children now. I see myself in them, different parts of me in different ones. I see the lack of self-esteem in one child in particular. How could I look at this little human being that I've brought into a harsh world full of harsh messages that will tear her down and try to destroy her and <i>not</i> put intense focus on building her self-esteem? I see the seeds of self-loathing already sprouting, and there's nothing I want more than to choke those seeds out and plant new seeds of self-love in their place. I want to teach my kids to take care of themselves, something I struggle to do myself. I can't imagine anything more important to focus on than a healthy self-esteem that comes from believing they are inherently good and are the masters of the decisions they make. They may make bad choices and do bad things, but that does not make them bad people. </div>
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Not all people of faith believe themselves to be so inherently wicked, but that is the message of the Bible - that the heart is deceitful and desperately wicked. That's the bad news that has to be accepted before the good news of Jesus on the cross can be needed. Some people are far better at not internalizing that message as deeply as I did, but I can't take that chance with my own kids. I can see which ones would internalize that message and define themselves by it, the way I did. So I <i>must</i> - it's my responsibility as a parent - fight against not only the messages the world will send my children that they are too much of this or not enough of that, but also the message they are not inherently <i>good. </i>I must put positive self-esteem at the top of things to develop in them, so that they can easily tap into the good they recognize in themselves when choosing between right and wrong. And when they inevitably must forgive themselves for taking the wrong path, their genuine sense of self-worth must be intact. </div>
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<i>*The Black Sheep & the Shepherd by <a href="http://www.quietcompanymusic.com/" target="_blank">Quiet Company</a></i></div>
Lori Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05600443590399882818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5390111.post-63670299170966629302017-08-06T13:55:00.000-05:002017-08-06T13:55:55.128-05:00The Awesome Stuff I've Done So Far in 2017: Part 2<div>
<a href="http://www.loriarnoldmcfarlane.com/2017/03/know-my-own-strength.html" target="_blank">A few months ago</a>, I declared that the theme of this year would be <i>healing.</i> I have a lot of healing to do in my life, from unpacking the damage my brand of the Christian faith did to me to recovering from my upcoming divorce and redefining who I am as a person. This spring, I ran (aka mostly walked) <a href="http://www.loriarnoldmcfarlane.com/2017/03/know-my-own-strength.html" target="_blank">my first half marathon</a>, and this summer I went on my first backpacking trip. Both of these brought with them significant healing effects, like homeopathy, natural and subtle and hard to evidence, but very real to me. (A little crunchy skeptic humor for you.)</div>
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<b>The Awesome Stuff I've Done So Far in 2017<br />Part 2: Backpacking the Shores Lake Loop</b></div>
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My suddenly becoming an outdoorsy person goes back to at least last year, though really when it comes to camping, I've always been a fan. From camping in my backyard and at campsites with my family as a kid to camping off the side of the side of the road in college with friends (Wes, Chris and Andrew - remember that?) to TMI camping on Merritt Island, FL and in Kilmacolm, Scotland, I love sleeping in a tent outside and sitting around a camp fire and bonding with people who smell just as unshowered as me.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjTcDNLzYSEu-vh8YBHdLyyr7BcxOXk-vwBCIDbXEccKhETrdKFKXvpJKrqYNf6tA_xqjbYjJGy4tNYgzMqIZlJfoGeEKhfCu1FlRpVbkgH_o5KDksZ7dZvxIbCqh5cqPeckCT/s1600/IMG_2741.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="858" data-original-width="1144" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjTcDNLzYSEu-vh8YBHdLyyr7BcxOXk-vwBCIDbXEccKhETrdKFKXvpJKrqYNf6tA_xqjbYjJGy4tNYgzMqIZlJfoGeEKhfCu1FlRpVbkgH_o5KDksZ7dZvxIbCqh5cqPeckCT/s320/IMG_2741.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love Stacy and Chris.</td></tr>
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But last year, I became reunited with an old friend from college, Chris. I am so thankful we became reunited for many reasons far more important that this, but Chris and his wife Stacy (whom I'm also so thankful to know) are pretty outdoorsy, which reignited my interest in camping. In March, just weeks after Scott moved out and I was facing the reality of how lonely it is to be single, Chris, Stacy and I planned a camping trip in northwest Arkansas. I was in Tulsa, OK, the week before, and oh what a week that was! Wildfires in the panhandle, a DR Level 2, and was that the week we had a tornado in Fayetteville and a train derailment in Oklahoma City? Anyway, a camping weekend was much needed, but as I drove from sunny Tulsa into Fayetteville, AR, the weather was turning colder and greyer. By the time I arrived at Chris and Stacy's house, the rain had started, and it was cold and everything was started to ice over ... and our camping trip got <i>snowed</i> out. </div>
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So I spent the weekend under an electric blanket inside their cozy, beautiful house, watching the snow fall, being mothered by Stacy and having the most relaxing and healing weekend I'd ever had. I get emotional just remembering that weekend and how it was exactly what my soul needed in that indescribably painful point in my life. </div>
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After that, between the busyness of all our lives and the summer heat encroaching upon us, we never managed to schedule another camping trip. I continued to research camping gear online and create lists and wishlists of things I'd need or want for camping, and through that I became interested in backpacking as well. My gear list was getting long - and expensive!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd6PVUSGLud8h-JRI_cPuxXxDmTpgQWqofy_Ho4FVf007eWn3mSsGaks7ZI6AvMmuyS4oAFbScNAH6NsLrgcwCGscN7XpxWPu5r9loB6sfeDkVpKq0SnfbBVY0W-frF8BsOrXY/s1600/IMG_4392.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="858" data-original-width="644" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd6PVUSGLud8h-JRI_cPuxXxDmTpgQWqofy_Ho4FVf007eWn3mSsGaks7ZI6AvMmuyS4oAFbScNAH6NsLrgcwCGscN7XpxWPu5r9loB6sfeDkVpKq0SnfbBVY0W-frF8BsOrXY/s200/IMG_4392.JPG" width="150" /></a>I went out on a date with a really cool guy who was big into backpacking, and we spent nearly the entire date talking about camping, hiking and backpacking. Nothing ever came of that date relationship-wise, but about a month later as he was planning a backpacking trip, he invited me along. The timing could not have been more providential. I was sliding fast into depression at that point; my new job was overwhelming me, my heart had recently been badly broken (yay rebound relationships), and my single parent responsibilities were crashing in on me. I felt like I was drowning fast. A weekend in the mountains sounded like an ice cream sundae smothered in chocolate syrup and rainbow sprinkles. </div>
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But I had yet to actually <i>purchase</i> any gear off my wishlists, and I'd done zero exercise or training in months. I'm an overachiever though, so when David confirmed the trip was on, I said yes.</div>
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I had one week to get a backpack, hiking shoes, a sleeping bag, a hammock, trekking poles, a water bladder, a cook stove and all the other tiny essentials necessary for a weekend in the woods. I spent all week texting David and Chris about which brand of this and which style of that was best, and by the weekend, I was extremely broke but had everything I needed to go backpacking.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0fl1XghfWTvx5apTEYbh0VdoGGBXeSZ9PP3UV3l_SXERnnt1xL-wXei82YGEBW1pDKm6Q0AblgIPpzqRuv9z3EJofsefLCwqIWxvyZqjhyX2vo0ssJ68QICh2yNnQlA8lN1Qt/s1600/IMG_4393.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="858" data-original-width="1144" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0fl1XghfWTvx5apTEYbh0VdoGGBXeSZ9PP3UV3l_SXERnnt1xL-wXei82YGEBW1pDKm6Q0AblgIPpzqRuv9z3EJofsefLCwqIWxvyZqjhyX2vo0ssJ68QICh2yNnQlA8lN1Qt/s400/IMG_4393.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just a few of the essentials.</td></tr>
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There were two slight concerns though. Not even setbacks, just concerns. One was that everyone David had invited hiking with him had either backed out or were unavailable. It was going to be just me and him - and we'd only ever met that one time. The other was the weather. Forecasts couldn't decide if it was going to be sunny all weekend or stormy. The chances leaned towards sunny, though, so we decided to take a chance and go for it. Early Saturday morning, July 1st, David and I hit the road and drove two hours to the Ozark mountains for our 13 mile backpack around the White Rock Shores Lake Loop Trail. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7GxkRdEQw1pnOSCbGbg9PAjA5VCrxVRsnNkpKWQIoRMI-a8ZdcO6NI1yV2oN2k2AjwFYqyL5Oy7bdDQWTKDydR_VDMRLrgm_UZRelb54oRDywXS_78EgrKOD_aj_D2GRER7_o/s1600/IMG_4395.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="858" data-original-width="1144" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7GxkRdEQw1pnOSCbGbg9PAjA5VCrxVRsnNkpKWQIoRMI-a8ZdcO6NI1yV2oN2k2AjwFYqyL5Oy7bdDQWTKDydR_VDMRLrgm_UZRelb54oRDywXS_78EgrKOD_aj_D2GRER7_o/s400/IMG_4395.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and my new backpacking buddy David</td></tr>
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The hike started out great. I was immediately grateful I'd taken David's advice on bringing hiking poles! The first few miles were pretty easy. We saw a beautiful waterfall and some really cool campsites. I got to test out my Sawyer water filter and was impressed that the filtered creek water actually tasted pretty good. We spent some of the time talking and a lot of the time in silence, me often lagging ten feet or so behind but thoroughly enjoying the scenery, the sweat and my own thoughts. It's funny how you think you're going to have all of these deep revelations while hiking yet I spent half the time singing in my head, "We're going camping now, we're on our way! We're going to climb up a mountain and run and jump and play!" (<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4WnfNlclAH4" target="_blank">Psalty the Singing Songbook</a> anybody?)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7GyTz4rFLoGODZaLLoxkr8Rp25nwoCcyKQ59BLBNsE5TIS5S3CNITy8QpBX4ReTCqyDAaChxvQFkpSQmDVyKXc0xC3ojjpCA2YQfJI74QkbC3yrqCQR16dFg_VByDpRfcgT6Z/s1600/IMG_4406.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="858" data-original-width="1144" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7GyTz4rFLoGODZaLLoxkr8Rp25nwoCcyKQ59BLBNsE5TIS5S3CNITy8QpBX4ReTCqyDAaChxvQFkpSQmDVyKXc0xC3ojjpCA2YQfJI74QkbC3yrqCQR16dFg_VByDpRfcgT6Z/s400/IMG_4406.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6-nXjGvK4eZJwgWveP_j89lv5_wjP_frILn2-HKlCC3mc9ejzDyWCoalZubh9s7k32VNNc1pFN_uBc_-5H6VtHpa5u-5E466UWzcQCXFLZ9wiwjgW6EW4WV2IOSoFdUOL2gE8/s1600/IMG_4407.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="858" data-original-width="1144" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6-nXjGvK4eZJwgWveP_j89lv5_wjP_frILn2-HKlCC3mc9ejzDyWCoalZubh9s7k32VNNc1pFN_uBc_-5H6VtHpa5u-5E466UWzcQCXFLZ9wiwjgW6EW4WV2IOSoFdUOL2gE8/s400/IMG_4407.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Our map promised that mile 6 was full of great campsites. We'd already past some pretty nice ones, so the mile 6 campsites were sure to be fantastic. Our plan was to hike 6.5 miles both days, and with the early start, we guessed we'd be able to set up camp around 4 or 5pm at the latest. That would give us plenty of time to hang our hammocks (both of us had new ones we'd never used before), start a fire, get some food in our bellies and relax for several hours before getting a good night's sleep.</div>
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We passed mile marker 5. In a mile, we expected to find somewhere to set up camp. But the next mile marker we saw said 7. The trail we were on had merged with the Ozark Highland Trail, but according to the map the two trails should only have been merged together for a short time. We'd been following the blue flashes but by mile 7, the flashes continued to be both blue and white, signifying the two merged trails. By 7 we should've been getting back to blue only. The map showed all the turns we were taking to be part of the Ozark Highland Trail only. We hiked for another mile before being certain we'd missed the turn off to continue the Shores Lake Loop alone.<br /><br />I was getting tired. Again, I'd done no training prior except a 4 mile walk with a friend two days before. We'd started our downhill hike and now we were going to have to turn around and go back uphill again. But it was better than getting lost, so we turned back around and hiked back up the hill almost another mile before running into only the second person we'd seen on the trail all day. </div>
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He was doing the Shores Lake Loop also and was getting ready to find camp too. He was pretty sure we <i>had</i> been on the right track, so we turned back around, and the three of us continued back downhill in the same direction we'd been going to find the nearest campsite.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaHPnE4TtnnEp0_Dk8NX0spgmh25nX9JyhULJmyRntxv_w4QPJfTTOIVuABGb1YVbi3eUYgd_YbY4zSG2kuPJHk1xB-AN2a17qnHTTGD6jlkG775wiZRdKMDcsp3ALRAQB21g5/s1600/IMG_4415.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="858" data-original-width="644" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaHPnE4TtnnEp0_Dk8NX0spgmh25nX9JyhULJmyRntxv_w4QPJfTTOIVuABGb1YVbi3eUYgd_YbY4zSG2kuPJHk1xB-AN2a17qnHTTGD6jlkG775wiZRdKMDcsp3ALRAQB21g5/s320/IMG_4415.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Allen and David</td></tr>
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David and Allen (our new hiking friend) chatted together several feet ahead of me, while I struggled to keep up. It was starting to get later than we'd planned, and my exhaustion was starting to show. I slipped and fell a couple of times. (Falling and trying to get back up with a 27 lb backpack on your back sucks.) The mile markers had suddenly gone from 7 to something in the 20s, which must've been marking the Ozark Highland Trail. I had no idea how far we'd gone, but with the back-tracking, we were going on 8 or 9 miles. This was much more than I'd anticipated, but I kept up. Barely.</div>
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<br />Then we heard the thunder.</div>
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We still had an hour before sundown, and Allen, who'd done the trail before, was certain the campsites were just up ahead. We stopped momentarily to put our rain covers over our packs and put on our headlamps just in case though, and we carried on. The rain came on and the trail grew pretty dark pretty fast. The wet dirt and rocks caused me to slip one more time. I was going to have to get control over my exhaustion!</div>
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We expected it to get dark around 7:30-8, but the storm brought on the darkness sooner than we expected. We were all getting pretty concerned about the lack of campsites. It wasn't even that we had to have the comfort of a designated campsite; the woods were so thick and overgrown that it would've been entirely unsafe to set up camp anywhere along the trail at that point. With the darkness, the vegetation, the poison ivy covering every inch of ground beyond the trail, we would've easily gotten lost in seconds if we left the trail to set up camp. David and I had already experienced that earlier in the day, when we walked off the trail less than 15 feet to investigate a campsite and were completely unable to find the trail again. Allen decided to run along ahead of us to see if he could find a campsite. He was running out of water, I was running out of steam, and David kept turning around to me and apologizing profusely for how this was turning out. It was okay though. I was just grateful I had two experienced hikers with me!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thick vegetation and poison ivy</td></tr>
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David and I thought we heard a whistle. It was pitch black and the rain was heavy, and we really hoped it was either Allen alerting us he'd found a campsite or our imaginations, because I really had no idea what we'd do if there was a lost or injured hiker out there somewhere! (Though I did have my first aid kit with me because I'm Red Cross Ready!) A little ways further, we saw Allen's headlamp. He'd found a campsite! According to GPS, we'd walked 10 miles of the 13 mile trail. It was late by then, somewhere around 8pm.</div>
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The rain was heavy and there was no chance of getting camp set up. The three of us decided the best bet was to set up an emergency shelter and wait for the rain to stop. With a tarp, guideline and some tent stakes, we set up a triangular shelter between two trees - not really noticing we'd set it up right over a bunch of uncomfortable big rocks. We three of us huddled under the tarp sitting on rocks with our packs and tried to wait out the storm. We shared out snacks - granola bars, beef jerky, water. The storm wasn't letting up though. In fact it was drawing closer. The lightning and thunder indicated the storm was only a few miles away then right on top of us. The creek nearby was rushing and rising. Rain water was running all around us, creating rivulets and large puddles. I'd been sweating out water all day, but now I had to pee like I'd never had to pee before. </div>
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We discussed just finishing the last three miles of the hike in the rain and going home, but I knew I didn't have the energy left in me. We were also worried about the rain and the slick rocks and what would happen if one of us twisted an ankle or become otherwise injured, and it just didn't seem safe. So we devised a plan.</div>
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Allen had a two person tent. David and I had only hammocks. Between the three of us though, we had tarps and para-cord and tent stakes, so we decided to set up Allen's tent, create a lean-to over and beyond the tent and build a shelter that would accommodate the three of us and our three backpacks. In the pitch dark and pouring rain, using only the lights from our headlamps, we build the tent and the lean-to and soon had a very wet but sheltered sleeping quarters. After we'd built our shelter, I told the boys to look the other way and tiptoed only a few feet into the poison ivy to finally pee. I didn't want to get lost, or swept away in the currents, and figured I'd rather take my chances with the poison ivy.</div>
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<br />Incidentally, peeing in the woods as a female is way suckier than it is for males. </div>
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We were hungry, but none of us had the energy to stay up any later and cook. So the three of us put our packs on the ground tarp outside the tent under the overheard tarp lean-to and crawled into Allen's two person tent. The three of us, all essentially strangers when you think about it, got very well acquainted very quickly in that small tent. The tent was leaking from the heavy rain and from being assembled in the rain. David and I hadn't brought a change of clothes, so we were soaking wet and shivering in the leaky, cold tent under a single unzipped sleeping bag. (His down sleeping bag wasn't waterproof so we were sharing mine.) Our biggest concern was the creek and the potential for flash flooding. None of us slept very well, but under the circumstances, it's amazing we slept at all.</div>
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By the next morning, the rain had stopped. We made breakfast on the cook stove, refilled our water bladders with filtered creek water, dismantled our shelter and cleaned up the campsite. We only had three miles left of the trail. The ground was slick and muddy, and I was extremely glad we hadn't tried to finish the trail during the night.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Cool Tree Cool"</td></tr>
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The last three miles seemed much longer than only three miles. But early in the morning, we finished our hike, and I've never been so relieved to see my car sitting in the parking lot, waiting to take me home. Allen and David seemed to feel the night before had made the whole trip a disaster, but I looked at it as quite the adventure! We'd all gotten a chance to test our survival skills, and now had a story to tell for the rest of our lives! We exchanged Facebook details, and Allen went his way while David and I drove back to Little Rock.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9jpcm-h4UIdUPMGIVpOZH264YY6SHgXGi3UTnucBTShKwlGyFgXcUa7z2DwiMDLYA91pFgOPyvfXib8smBU4Huq3NxnKl-_4-C25JSBqD88gK9MR3qNd2z8-FWFFcYz5mNtw3/s1600/IMG_4416.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="858" data-original-width="1144" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9jpcm-h4UIdUPMGIVpOZH264YY6SHgXGi3UTnucBTShKwlGyFgXcUa7z2DwiMDLYA91pFgOPyvfXib8smBU4Huq3NxnKl-_4-C25JSBqD88gK9MR3qNd2z8-FWFFcYz5mNtw3/s400/IMG_4416.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Allen, David and me - we made it!</td></tr>
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Despite the rain and the cold and the overexertion of the night before, my first backpacking trip was exactly what my soul needed. My body felt strong and durable, my mind felt refreshed and clear, and my heart felt rejuvenated and light. I felt capable, resourceful (though the resourcefulness was 100% Allen and David) and empowered. Though most of my thoughts during the hours of silence trekking through the mountains were simple, shallow and unimportant, I did have several small epiphanies that helped lift me from that sinking slope into depression. I found strength in myself I didn't know I had, and I fell in love with nature and the outdoors again that weekend.<br />
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It's been stiflingly hot ever since, so I haven't been backpacking again yet, but my pack is the corner of my bedroom, cleaned, full and ready for our next adventure together in the woods.</div>
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Lori Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05600443590399882818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5390111.post-32256809344144829662017-08-02T21:54:00.000-05:002017-08-02T22:07:41.379-05:00The Awesome Stuff I've Done So Far in 2017: Part 1Since January, my life has pretty much been doing somersaults all the way through the calendar. (How is it August already?) It's been the rockiest year of my life, but in amongst my marriage ending, my job role change and the transition into single motherhood, I've also done a couple of pretty awesome things. I just never got around to blogging about them. So tonight, I bring you The Awesome Stuff I've Done So Far in 2017: Part 1. In the next couple of days I'll bring you Part 2.<br />
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<b>Part 1: The Little Rock Half Marathon</b><br />
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Many years ago while working at the <a href="http://www.highschoolofglasgow.co.uk/" target="_blank">High School of Glasgow</a>, I decided I was going to start running, because why not? My coworker Carol and I started running during our lunch breaks. We'd change into workout clothes and run a few miles around the block - or rather, Carol ran a few miles, I ran a few feet, panted heavily, walked a few miles, then ran a few feet again. (Once, we somehow managed to get lost running around the block and were almost an hour late getting back to work. To this day, I'm not sure how that happened.) That eventually tapered off though, perhaps when I got pregnant with Fifi. I can't remember exactly. I only know that it was many years later before I got the notion to run again. This time Jen from church and I decided we were going to train for a 10k. We started out strong, running around Battery Park a couple nights a week. Until the first night it was cold and rainy. And here I'm going to go ahead and make the assumption that this means we only actually ran around Battery Park two or three times tops before encountering a cold and rainy night ... because Scotland.</div>
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That was the extent of my running career.<br />
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Then last year, my dad, whose enthusiasm for running and cycling is somehow oddly contagious, persuaded me to sign up to run the <a href="http://www.littlerockmarathon.com/" target="_blank">Little Rock half marathon</a> with him. In fact, it was about <a href="http://www.loriarnoldmcfarlane.com/2016/09/half-out-of-my-mind.html" target="_blank">this time last year</a>. I figured I had more than enough time to train, so sure, why not? I mentioned it to another friend of mine, and she agreed to register too. Feeling motivated, Elizabeth and I started running together. But not for long. Winter came, and I didn't want to run outside. I ran on the treadmill at the gym, but I didn't do much else in the way of training.<br />
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Then Scott and I split up, and training for a half marathon was the furthest thing from my mind.<br />
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I had gotten to the point where I could just about do 5 miles before wiping out, so when March came along, I had thoroughly decided against running the race. Elizabeth's training hadn't come along much better; I think she could manage about 6 miles. So the week the runners were supposed to pick up their race packets, Elizabeth and I decided we weren't going to run after all. But since we'd already paid for the t-shirt ... well, we could at least go pick up the packets.<br />
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On Thursday, Elizabeth texted me to say she was going to go ahead and do the half marathon after all. She used some fancy mathematics to show that we could totally complete the race within the 4 hour time frame, and, well, math not being my strong suit, she convinced me to go for it too. So on Friday we picked up our packets and on Sunday, having not run in months, I found myself at the starting line of a 13.1 mile race. In the rain.<br />
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We started off great. The excitement and the adrenaline kept us going for the first few miles with no worries at all. We paced ourselves well. We cheered when we passed mile markers. We walked some and ran some. (We made sure we were running every time we passed a race photographer.) The rain wasn't going to spoil this for us.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoNZp1xPmRStmmRVlEdmovIvEZuq7PZ4_z-t9EReFxEi_5HGIDce4VKorK8XdNoQmGMNy3_aBa7y67XJOI5UUavv7Q1cEL-atQHRAZyFgWIj18j87Ua5Ok7SKtYhWKoxJPsKRP/s1600/LRmarathon2017_3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1065" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoNZp1xPmRStmmRVlEdmovIvEZuq7PZ4_z-t9EReFxEi_5HGIDce4VKorK8XdNoQmGMNy3_aBa7y67XJOI5UUavv7Q1cEL-atQHRAZyFgWIj18j87Ua5Ok7SKtYhWKoxJPsKRP/s320/LRmarathon2017_3.jpg" width="212" /></a>5 miles in, I felt great. 8 miles in we were still going strong. 10 miles in we were still in this thing, though getting tired. Then suddenly ... I felt it. The next 2 miles were tough. My feet were soaked and blisters were forming. I was getting exhausted, but mostly it was my feet. Then that last mile was torture. My feet were <i>killing</i> me. We were really watching our time by then, coming close to the 4 hour cut off. We knew we could make it if we could just keep up the pace, but my feet! <br />
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We turned the last corner and could see the finish line about 4 blocks away. Elizabeth and I looked at each other. We had time. We could do this. Let's do this! Determined to run, not walk, across the finish line, we picked up our pace about 2 blocks away and just went for it. We weaved in and out through the walkers in front of us, like we'd been running all along, and with 15 minutes to spare*, we crossed the finish line.<br />
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During mile 13, we walked with a man who had been doing the LR half marathon for something like 15 years with his friends. He said the feeling of crossing the finish line is like no other and don't be surprised if you cry.<br />
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Yeah, right, why would I cry? But sure enough, as I crossed that finish line, the emotions welled up in me, and my eyes started to tear up. The past three months had been worst of my life. My marriage was a failure, I was barely holding it together as a single mother, and most days the best I could do was pull myself out of bed to show up for work on time. I was so depressed, and all I wanted to do was drive my car off the side of bridge and put an end to it all.<br />
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Yet there I was, finishing a half marathon. I have never in my life felt stronger. There is no describing the feeling. It was one of the most empowering moments I've ever experienced.<br />
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I'm tearing up right now just remembering it.<br />
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Aaaaand then the adrenaline wore off and OH MY GOD, MY FEET.<br />
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Elizabeth and I limped to the runners' area where I scarfed down a banana, an applesauce and the best tasting pasta of my entire life. The thought of walking back to the car was unbearable, and the walk actually was unbearable. I drove home, took a hot bath, and napped for several hours, waking up stiff as a board and unable to move from the neck down.<br />
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But it was so unbelievably worth it.<br />
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So worth it, that I'm signing up again for next year. This time though, I think I'll train first.<br />
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<i>*For those who may wonder: The timer in the first picture makes it look like we came in only 6 minutes under time. That was the official clock. I was 20,000-odd people behind the first runners, so my time didn't start until I crossed the starting line. </i><br />
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Lori Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05600443590399882818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5390111.post-36916353827608936832017-07-31T21:29:00.000-05:002017-07-31T21:29:24.865-05:00The Power of (the Unbeliever's) Prayer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Prayer used to be as natural to me as breathing. My inner monologue often included Jesus in its conversations. I prayed about everything. Prayers were not mere request forms for things I needed or hoped for. Sure, I asked for health when loved ones were ill, I asked for safety when I was scared, I asked for help when I was in need. I certainly prayed most fervently for salvation of those who were lost. But it was so much more than that. I had long conversations with God, sharing my thoughts, my dreams, my sorrows, my desires. I thanked him for beautiful sunsets and small victories. I analyzed questions and dilemmas with him. I included him in my mental decision-making process. I walked and talked with him on a regular basis.<br />
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I never felt I was a good "prayer warrior," but prayer was a normal, natural part of my daily life.<br />
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And I believed in the power of prayer. I believed that my prayers were heard and that God would answer them each, though not always in the way I wished. I believed that there was a genuine power in prayer, and that they could move mountains. Without getting too theological, I believed my prayers could make things happen (if they were in line with the preordained ... another topic for another time.)<br />
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Losing that belief in prayer, and the belief in a god to address them to, left a hole in my heart. In the early days of my newfound faithlessness, I often felt empty. I had no one to talk to. No one but myself to address in my inner dialogue. No one to call on for help. I was lonely without prayer.<br />
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I recalled a conversation I'd had with some friends in a school cafeteria while living in Scotland. It was a charity bake sale at my children's school, and we mothers were sitting around a tiny table with tiny chairs talking about the supernatural - ghosts and what not. I was still a Christian at the time but very ardently a searching one. One of the mothers referred to herself as "spiritual but not religious" and mentioned that she often prayed to the universe.<br />
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At the time, that seemed ludicrous. Why would anyone pray to the universe? What can the universe do to answer your prayers? For I believed that the power that lay in prayer was actually the power that lay in God to do something about those prayers.<br />
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Now I began to imagine that power differently. What if the power is actually <i>in the prayer itself?</i> What if the power is in <i>ourselves and in the act of praying? </i><br />
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In those lonely days after losing my faith, I recalled the idea of praying to the universe. It still felt wickedly sacrilegious, as I was still adjusting from a lifetime of believing in a God who would strike me from the Book of Life for committing the unforgivable sin of blasphemy. But since I no longer believed in gods, I tried it one day. I had the familiar urge to address God about something, so I went ahead and did it - but I addressed the Universe instead.<br />
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I wasn't struck by lightening. But I felt oddly comforted.<br />
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A few days later I had a dream. In the dream, I'd been in a terrible car accident with my children. In the dream I found myself starting to cry out to God to save my children, then at the last second, I cried out to the Universe instead. I partly feared this blasphemy would mean death to my kids but even in the dream, I realized that the prayer itself was not going to save them, it was only going to comfort me through the terror of the situation.<br />
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I woke up from that dream shaking yet amazed by the epiphany.<br />
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I've been praying to the Universe ever since.<br />
<br />Yes, to faithful ears it sounds either despicable or foolish. It's not without pause that I share this. To those who find praying to anyone other than God sheer sacrilege, I understand. To those who believe that my need to pray is a hidden desire placed in my heart by God, I understand. I used to think those things too.<br />
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But really, it's just this. Prayer was always my way of sorting through my thoughts. Rather than simply monologuing with myself, I had someone to address those thoughts to. That made it like a real conversation, one that required an aspect of reason, introspection, story arc and conflict resolution. It was an audience for my innermost thoughts. Prayer also gave me a way to thank someone for the good things in my life, the things for which no one on earth could be responsible for. Prayer was my way of figuring things out, working through issues and finding comfort in pain.<br />
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Prayer was a powerful tool for me. But the power was in the act of praying itself, not in the one to whom I prayed.<br />
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Prayer is still as natural to me as breathing. I don't pray as often as I once did, but perhaps my life is noisier now, with three growing kids, a demanding job, and very little time to reflect in silence. But I still pray often. When I hike, I find myself praying in glowing rapture to the Universe (who now gets a capital letter too) over the beauty of nature. When I am lonely or depressed, I share my painful feelings with the Universe. When I have a tough decision to make, I include the Universe in my inner monologue.<br />
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It's not because I believe some nebulous concept of a omnipotent "universe" has replaced a concrete concept of an omnipotent God, but because the act of praying itself is so powerful to me, no matter who it's addressed to, that I feel disoriented without it.<br />
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So there you have it. I am an atheist who prays. Fervently even, sometimes. Just another way <a href="http://www.loriarnoldmcfarlane.com/2017/05/i-am-empath-and-no-i-dont-believe-in.html" target="_blank">I'm rationally irrational</a>, I guess. Maybe just way I'm a little "spiritual but not religious" too.Lori Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05600443590399882818noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5390111.post-44837391032575580592017-06-13T01:04:00.000-05:002017-06-13T01:06:19.285-05:00One of Those Overly Self-Indulgent Posts For Which I Apologize<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl6wteZNAGu_HOVyxZLryBYBudqZwD7hJGBIaBoKle7o5oJZ8ErxKwKe4fKKyFVjBepG_2VPypb7gXnOglgxAqOV0HMdHaWrHq1Z9WkQQ7xn-8snj25fikorj_sAECqlHMt9g9/s1600/orange-201766_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1060" data-original-width="1600" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl6wteZNAGu_HOVyxZLryBYBudqZwD7hJGBIaBoKle7o5oJZ8ErxKwKe4fKKyFVjBepG_2VPypb7gXnOglgxAqOV0HMdHaWrHq1Z9WkQQ7xn-8snj25fikorj_sAECqlHMt9g9/s400/orange-201766_1920.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Love leads me on, let's me say what I think. - Quiet Company</i></td></tr>
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I've been asking myself lately if I should keep this blog online. I started this blog a few months before meeting my soon-to-be-ex husband about fourteen years ago, and this blog was <i>our</i> blog for most of its existence. </div>
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I ask myself if blogging is something I can realistically even do anymore. Can I find time to write with my busy work/life balancing act?<br />
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Is it something that's even a good idea for me anymore? Now that I have a job that is somewhat in the spotlight, do I really want to share intimate details of my life with the internet like I used to when I was nobody to anybody?<br />
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Why do I blog at all, I've been asking myself? I've always had pretty much the same motivations since the day I started: to be a voice for those who don't have one (or haven't found it yet) and to be known.<br />
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To be known.<br />
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I wonder how many people have this insatiable desire <i>to be known.</i><br />
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I know for a fact I care too much about what people think of me. I love to be loved - I just do. But if anyone is going to hate me, I want them to know me first.<br />
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I want to be known. Then love or hate as you will. But love or hate <i>me, </i>not a false impression of me.<br />
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I wrote my book, I write my blog, so people can judge me for who I <i>am, </i>not who they imagine I am. I must take some of the fun out of getting to know me personally, when all it takes is a Google search, but I need this. Some weird, messed up, narcissistic part of me needs this venue to share myself. Sometimes it's because I know sharing myself is also sharing others' selves and taking the heat for it in the public eye while quietly comforting someone I will never know. This is a trade off that has always been acceptable to me. And then sometimes I need this just because I need to be acutely known. It's sometimes almost too self-indulgent, almost selfish, how deep my desire to be known is.<br />
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I have another reason for blogging. Writing is inside of me. If it doesn't get outside, I feel stale and suffocated. I could write privately to get this out of me, and often I do. I don't publish <i>every</i> thought and feeling I commit to paper. But put it to paper I must. Or I dry up. Or I rot. Sometimes not getting these intense emotions out of me feels like rain seeping in through a damaged roof tile. The water collects and stagnates, the ceiling bulges, the mold sets in. I either whither or wrinkle. I need a rain gutter.<br />
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Blogging is my rain gutter.<br />
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I considered shutting down my blog momentarily this past week. Maybe I don't want people knowing so much about me. Maybe it's foolish. Maybe it will be my demise - if I want to get dramatic about it. And at that moment last week, getting dramatic about it seemed logical.<br />
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But I don't think shutting down my blog is the right answer. I don't think hiding the real me is the way I want to live my life. I don't think muting my voice and thus silencing the not-aloneness that I know speaks to people I both know and will never know is something I could or should do.<br />
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As for being known... Being known is both frightening and freeing. Dare I let the fear shut out the freedom?<br />
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I've asked myself if I should keep my blog online, even though my writing time is limited and my online presence is more prominent.<br />
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I may be making entirely the wrong choice, but my gut says stay with it. So I'm going to stay with it.<br />
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<i>"Love leads me on, let's me say what I think ... </i></div>
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<i>You say the truth sets you free, well, it calls to me."</i></div>
<br />Lori Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05600443590399882818noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5390111.post-7101341213821652182017-05-18T22:59:00.000-05:002017-05-18T23:04:44.177-05:00I Am An Empath; And No, I Don't Believe In That<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I'm not a spiritual person. I don't believe in the supernatural, the paranormal, the other-worldly. I don't believe in auras or Karma or energies. I don't believe in angels or spirits or demons. I believe in a tangible world with a earthbound history and cosmic origins. I believe we came from stardust and to stardust we'll return.<br />
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But.<br />
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I like to wonder. I like to imagine. I enjoy being swept up in fantasy and being whisked away by magical moments. So when I talk about star signs, I don't believe that when the Sun reaches the northern vernal equinox, the babies born are all frank, fierce and fiery. But I enjoy reveling in being an Aries and fitting that description. I enjoy finding out what others' star signs are and seeing how they fit with their own astrological characteristics.<br />
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I don't believe (in a religious sense) in astrology, but I believe (in a fantastical sense) in astrology.<br />
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Similarly, I don't believe that any of us are actually connected spiritually by energies or in some spiritual realm. But I do believe (in the Disney magic sort of way) that we <b>are </b>somehow connected. It's a contradiction that makes no sense, but it makes sense to me.<br />
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A year or so ago, I came across the concept of an "empath". I love the dictionary definition of an empath:<br />
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<i>(chiefly in science fiction) a person with the paranormal ability to apprehend the mental or emotional state of another individual</i></div>
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I've already stated I don't believe in the paranormal. We evolved from who knows what and somewhere along the way developed sentience. Very cool. But not other-worldly.</div>
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<i>However. </i></div>
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In this magical mystical mind of mine, I can't help but be drawn to this concept. I have and give no evidence that a person can be an empath, but I can float away outside my skeptic's brain and call myself an empath with only a smidgen of sarcasm.</div>
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I feel things <i>so deeply.</i> I sense the feelings of those around me, and their feelings impact my feelings. No, more than impact. They intrude. I'd even go so far as to say the feelings of those <i>not</i> near me, but somehow connected to me, intrude upon my own feelings. The emotions of others influence me so greatly that often I have no room for my own feelings. And this leads to a constant state of emotion overload.</div>
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<b>I have to state this again. </b>Fellow skeptics, <i>I know.</i> It's irrational. It's unprovable. It is not based on scientific fact. <i>But I'm living in my version of a spiritual world, so give me my mystical moment.</i></div>
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I have always felt this intensity of emotion. I have been told since I was a child "You're soooo sensitive." Everything in my life causes immense pleasure or pain. I don't live anywhere in the middle. To the point I've wondered if I have a psychiatric illness.</div>
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I'd rather believe I'm an empath.</div>
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I can tell when someone is hiding something, no matter how well they hide it. I can sense an unease in a room just by walking in, even if there is no obvious tension. Without even trying, I find myself leveling with others emotionally to get on their wavelength and understand what they are feeling. </div>
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(And the Aries in me? Makes me want to drive in like a bull - or perhaps a ram? - and call it out for what it is. And the empath in me reminds me that no one wants me to do that, and I need to be sensitive to the feelings of others. <i>And then my impulsiveness usually ends up calling the shots.</i>)</div>
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I'd be a terrible judge, because I can understand just about any misdeed of any miscreant, if I just get a moment to spend with them. I am <i>too</i> empathetic sometimes, to the point that I let people abuse me, because I'm too busy thinking about what it feels like to be in <i>their</i> shoes. I forget that I'm actually currently in my <i>own</i> shoes and have my own feelings as well. Then when my own feelings bubble to the surface after having experienced the feelings of someone else for so long, I look at myself and wonder how I can be so stupid, so spineless, so infantile, as to be caught in a situation where I let myself be treated that way. I think how naive I am, how weak and pathetic.</div>
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Or conversely, I'll realize that I am a GREAT person, a BEAUTIFUL person, a HAPPY person, and I'll wonder why I ever let myself ever be dragged down by the negativity of another! I prefer when that happens. I also prefer when those around me influence me positively and give my feelings a shot of espresso, boosting me to the sky. That's when I experience such intense love and pleasure that I feel like a hot air balloon floating among the clouds.</div>
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I wish I could turn this emotional susceptibility off like a spigot or turn down the volume of all the emotions around me and just tune into my own for a while. Every now and then I can, but never for long. I am constantly overwhelmed by the three varying emotional landscapes of my children, those of my coworkers, those of my friends and even sometimes those of acquaintances or strangers who come into my "force field". (I'm using science fiction terms now, because <i>yes, I know.</i>) </div>
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So okay. There is likely a scientific, rational reason for why I am influenced by others so easily. I'm just more situationally aware? Empathy is a real thing, sure. I'm just overly empathetic. Whatever.</div>
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What it doesn't change is how overwhelming and exhausting it is to be in my body.</div>
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These past few months have been the most emotionally intense months of my life, short of my <a href="https://nowheretribune.wordpress.com/2016/08/24/book-review-the-last-petal-falling/comment-page-1/">deconversion</a>. Two new jobs in seven months, both with a humanitarian organization that responds daily to human suffering, and a divorce ending my 12-year marriage in the midst of it. My ups have been UP and my downs have been DOWN. Those are just my own feelings by themselves, let alone the impact, influence, intrusion of all the others around me. My body is physically worn out by the barrage of feelings during this past half-a-year.</div>
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I'm sure that's scientific too. Body and mind are daily being proven to be significantly linked, right?</div>
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But for the empath (or highly sensitive person or intuitive or whatever quirky woo name you want to give us), there is no mere link. Every bit of mind and body are inextricably the same thing. <i>They're called feelings, because of how much we feel them.</i></div>
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Why am I writing this? </div>
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Because:</div>
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1) Writing (and talking) it out is the only way I know how to rid my body of this intensity of feelings.</div>
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2) I revel in the contradiction of what I <b>believe </b>and what I <i>believe.</i></div>
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Why do I <i>hesitate</i> to write this? </div>
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Because:</div>
1) I know other skeptics will scoff at me and tell me this is stupid, and everyone feels this way. (But do they? <i>Do they?</i>)<br />
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2) Because it's stupid and self-absorbed and utter nonsense.</div>
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But you know what? I feel lighter now, the things that have been weighing me down don't feel so heavy after writing about how overwhelming it's been. You know what writing feels like to me?</div>
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What praying used to feel like.<br />
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<i>And my penchant for praying to the Universe as an atheist like I used to pray to God as a Christian will be the topic of a future post involving my rational vs. irrational mind.</i></div>
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Lori Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05600443590399882818noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5390111.post-86414285014202119612017-04-29T20:27:00.003-05:002017-04-30T10:47:51.568-05:00Northeast Arkansas Mega Blitz Home Fire Campaign <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLQFyCeklToVshFzFRnfsYHgacayvHesQfiNcf5RRMhlSbapqdi3vo_u-o9vUjSAKuPXOPzi7MNA31A1nm0g7eJofK6HnxqXo7Ym5TNF95XFEwLeouhxwnVXGJcPeEn74yrQVb/s1600/20170428_192306.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLQFyCeklToVshFzFRnfsYHgacayvHesQfiNcf5RRMhlSbapqdi3vo_u-o9vUjSAKuPXOPzi7MNA31A1nm0g7eJofK6HnxqXo7Ym5TNF95XFEwLeouhxwnVXGJcPeEn74yrQVb/s400/20170428_192306.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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On Day 1 of my job with the <a href="http://redcross.org/">American Red Cross</a>, back on October 10th, 2016, I listened in on a call with a bunch of people I didn't know regarding a topic I knew nothing about. I was jotting notes furiously in my brand new work journal, not sure if what I was writing down was relevant information or not.<br />
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That call was the first discussion Pam Knapp-Carver, the Executive Director of the American Red Cross serving Northeast Arkansas, had with the region regarding her idea for a "Mega Blitz" <a href="http://www.redcross.org/get-help/prepare-for-emergencies/types-of-emergencies/fire/prevent-home-fire">Home Fire Campaign</a>, a campaign created by the Red Cross to reduce the number of home fire fatalities and injuries by 25% in 5 years. The Mega Blitz Pam envisioned was inspired by a similar event done previously in Cincinnati. Her idea was to install 1000 smoke alarms in northeast Arkansas, and she needed all the support she could get from the region to make this a reality. As the new Regional Communications Director, she needed my help to take care of the publicity.<br />
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On Day 1 as Regional Communications Director, I was working on this project. Soon I was meeting with Pam regularly, through phone calls and visits to Jonesboro, meeting with representatives from the <a href="http://www.astateredwolves.com/">A-State Red Wolves</a> to get them on board as partners, planning and brainstorming all kinds of tiny details, working with our disaster team, working with my communications volunteer Pat up in Mississippi County for media releases, visiting with KAIT8 for interviews and media coverage, coordinating with external partners, begging at times for things we wanted, commiserating with Pam on numerous occasions - you name it. We worked on this for months.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxvdqr0w4LGw6K14-I5DSQ91ZgMxIuXUrEGFRJKxAkNXYDp0ldBGXIOhL0Pa-sTagn2qB5G0GJ88Jo2Q7W0KOE7cmTUUVyB1mYMZL0TRbJrv2O-yHKRRIhiPXIvdKvCK8Gcn34/s1600/20170223_131558.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxvdqr0w4LGw6K14-I5DSQ91ZgMxIuXUrEGFRJKxAkNXYDp0ldBGXIOhL0Pa-sTagn2qB5G0GJ88Jo2Q7W0KOE7cmTUUVyB1mYMZL0TRbJrv2O-yHKRRIhiPXIvdKvCK8Gcn34/s400/20170223_131558.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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(And while I helped a lot, Pam and Dean and Kandy and all of the northeast Arkansas volunteers and staff deserve WAY more credit for all the work they put into this event!)<br />
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Then, after all this work, just a week before the event took place, I accepted a new job within the Red Cross - as Executive Director for the Greater Arkansas chapter. But I had one last communications job to complete: Pam's Mega Blitz.<br />
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My first project to my last project - this event brought my whole (short) time as RCD full circle.<br />
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And what a great event it was!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzXuj6zmXEves8jKd9FjP3YQCjTvf1scScLilDovNBR2-1NjBiy6C2VkWszxa8aYxuKnQhJjIdbEVxufIAwjP0H1G3-7b_TG1PcSbo2c0d11UfAfBJsAnwoHEe_NhtlcmmqlKX/s1600/20170429_130105.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzXuj6zmXEves8jKd9FjP3YQCjTvf1scScLilDovNBR2-1NjBiy6C2VkWszxa8aYxuKnQhJjIdbEVxufIAwjP0H1G3-7b_TG1PcSbo2c0d11UfAfBJsAnwoHEe_NhtlcmmqlKX/s400/20170429_130105.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I took part in one "mini blitz" earlier in the year, installing smoke alarms in a small town called Brookland, then today went from team to team in Jonesboro taking photos and posting on social media.<br />
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We had a goal of installing 1000 smoke alarms, and at last count, we were over 1100. I could not be more proud of Pam and her team for how amazingly they pulled this thing off! There were a few hiccups here and there, but the key thing is that service delivery was not inhibited. We have made northeast Arkansas 1100x safer over the past few months. What an accomplishment!<br />
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We are now planning to do this same thing in Little Rock in October - a year after we started planning for this one in April. If we could pull off this one in six months, I think we can pull it off again in the next six months. With Pam helping me this time!<br />
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To view the tally and the hundreds of pictures posted of the mini blitzes and today's Mega Blitz, check out the <a href="http://21212.myactions.org/ArkRedCross.php">website</a>.<br />
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And for one last little "full circle" piece of the puzzle - early in the planning stages, I called Skip Tate, the Regional Communications Director in Cincinnati, to ask for advice. He sent me tons of great documents and resources they had created for the event. Several months later, I got to meet Skip at the Advanced Public Affairs Team (APAT) training conference in Washington, DC. Since joining the Red Cross, I have met so many amazing people, Skip and Pam and so many others, who have all become part of my ever-expanding Red Cross family. And when you work or volunteer in disaster and spend hours and days and weeks together, tirelessly working in trying conditions, you really do become family!<br />
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I don't believe in luck or fate or everything-happening-for-a-reason, but becoming a part of the Red Cross is one of the best things that's ever happened to me. It's the most taxing, exhausting job I've ever done (daresay more exhausting than even parenting), but like parenting, the rewards make every second worth it. I love the Red Cross and its mission more than I could possibly express.<br />
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To watch a few moments of us live in action, view <a href="http://www.kait8.com/clip/13289435/red-cross-smoke-alarms">this clip from KAIT Region 8 News</a>.<br />
<br />Lori Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05600443590399882818noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5390111.post-11385126529418238522017-03-08T07:44:00.000-06:002017-03-08T07:44:43.535-06:00Know My Own Strength<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"You're a strong woman. Act like it."<br />
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These are the words I said to my reflection in the bathroom mirror a couple of days ago. Staring back at myself, I looked into my own eyes, pointed my finger at my reverse image and told myself it's time.<br />
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There have been days lately where I've felt like an Elizabethan criminal, being torn apart in four different directions by four horses. There have been days I've felt literally unable to go on, that my life had fallen apart so irreparably that my heart was simply going to stop beating. There have been days where the biggest struggle of my life were getting out of bed, putting on clean clothes and eating a Pop Tart, much less go to work and perform at my best. There have been days where I've actually considered Googling "Can you go blind from crying too much?" (I haven't Googled it yet. I'm just hoping no.)<br />
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But it's time for all of that to stop. I'm a strong woman. It's time to act like it.<br /><br />I'm not saying the grieving period has to be over. Grieving does its own thing and operates in its own time. There is no rushing the grieving process and no reason to try to do so. But wallowing has a shelf life, and that shelf life has expired.<br />
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I have learned a lot about myself in the past several months. I've learned that I can be arrogant and smug. I've learned that I can be horribly selfish. I've learned that I make mistakes and am no better than anyone else. (In truth, none of these things were truly new insights; I've always been my own harshest critic and have always seen myself as so far from perfect that it's plunged me into despair. But I have learned these things about myself in new ways recently.) I've also learned that I haven't always been as independent as I thought myself. I've learned I am uncomfortable in my own skin. I've learned that I have an anxiety about solitude that is unhealthy. And I've learned that sometimes the people you thought were your closest friends are not, and ones you never thought would come through, do.<br />
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But I've also learned that I am strong and have more strength than I realize. I just have to believe it.<br />
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For the past four or five Octobers, having done the <a href="http://www.loriarnoldmcfarlane.com/search/label/October%20Dress%20Project">October Dress Project</a>, I've emerged with a "theme" for the upcoming year - a word or phrase that sums up what I want to work on for the next 365 days. I didn't do ODP last year and never developed a theme for 2017. But I'm seeing a few themes emerge organically - healing and self-love.<br />
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This year, that's my goal. I have a lot of things from my life I need to heal from, and I need to grow to love myself by myself. I need to learn that from here on out, there is no one looking out for me except myself and therefore, I've got to be my own biggest fan and supporter.<br />
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A co-worker who has been divorced herself told me that after her divorce she committed to a year of loving herself. She didn't date anyone - didn't even entertain the thought - and just grew to know and love herself. She said it was the best thing she'd ever done, and now in her relationships she'll never be as vulnerable as she'd been in her first.<br />
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I've decided to do this as well, including making a commitment this year of getting out of my comfort zone, discovering who I am and what I like, and developing a genuine strength that goes deeper than just a thick outer shell. I have decided not to date or even think about dating for the rest of the year, so that I can focus on getting to know myself and my own needs. As I've grown older, I've become like an egg - hard on the outside but easily broken. I want to be more like a tree. Steadfast even at its core, but living, growing and changing, accepting the seasons of life with dignity and grace. Whether flowering or barren, it is unwavering.<br />
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<span class="">I'm overcoming my fear of planning and doing things alone. I am taking back the power to decide how I feel rather than let others control that. I am giving myself space to make mistakes and be imperfect. I am learning to celebrate my wins instead of obsess over my losses. I am protecting my heart and identifying who I can truly trust and who it's okay to just be ordinary friends with (and who needs to go completely). </span><br />
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<span class="">This is going to be a long hike. It's going to take more than just one year; it will likely be a recurring, lifelong series of steps forwards and backwards. But the journey starts here, and it starts with these specific landmarks:</span><br />
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<span class="">- I ran/walked (mostly walked) a <a href="http://www.loriarnoldmcfarlane.com/2016/09/half-out-of-my-mind.html">half marathon</a>, and I wasn't even the last person to cross the finish line! Thanks to the support and shared agony (the following evening was brutal) of my friend Elizabeth, I was able to cross this item off my <a href="http://www.loriarnoldmcfarlane.com/2016/04/34-bucket-list.html">bucket list</a>. Crossing that finish line was a huge personal accomplishment for me, but more about the half marathon to come in another post.</span><br />
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<span class="">- I am going to start camping again. Both with others but more importantly alone. I've always loved camping with friends, but I've never gone alone. Under the tutelage of my friend Chris (one of those unforeseen friends who has emerged as genuinely there for me no matter what) and his gorgeous wife Stacy, I'm going to learn how to camp alone (safely) and find peace within myself and in nature.</span><br />
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<span class="">- I'm buying single tickets to events I really want to go to. I bought one ticket to see Quiet Company in Dallas the same weekend I'll be in Dallas to see Tripping Daisy. I have a spare Tripping Daisy ticket, but if I don't find anyone to go with me, I'll go alone to that too. </span><br />
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<span class="">(I almost bought a ticket to see David Sedaris in Little Rock next month, but upon checkout the $25 ticket turned into a $40 ticket after all the service fees. I haven't decided yet if David Sedaris - as much as I like his books - is worth $40 of my precious now-single income...)</span><br />
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<span class="">- I bought a day planner, and I'm committing to things for myself and not just for other people. Someone else said recently that if something goes in his day planner, he's committed to it and does it. I didn't agree at first, but now that I have a day planner myself, I get it. I've set aside days to go hiking or out of town and days to treat myself. And I'm sticking to them, because I'm worth my own time and commitment as much as anyone is worth it. I don't make a habit of cancelling on other people, so why would I cancel on myself?</span><br />
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I'm excited about my year of self-love and healing. I'm excited to nurture good friendships and make new ones. I'm looking forward to spending some time on my own, learning to love myself and care for myself. I'm throwing out my <a href="http://adultingblog.com/post/11977127546">shame boomerang</a> - the inclination to constantly replay and remind myself of my mistakes and my shortfalls and my errors over and over and over, no matter how many times I try to move past them. I'm going to try new things and find peace and contentment in my own company.<br />
<br />This is going to be a good year for me, in spite of all the sadness. I'm going to come out of this thing stronger and whole. I am a strong woman, and I'm going to act like it.Lori Arnoldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05600443590399882818noreply@blogger.com1