tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65823635065574772832024-02-22T01:35:15.666-08:00my daily thank you notesK. A. Ruth Bushawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05657350975019777765noreply@blogger.comBlogger207125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582363506557477283.post-64106927565142426372012-12-13T19:32:00.003-08:002012-12-13T19:35:00.655-08:00Detox Time: Days 6-10 and beyond<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
After day 5 of the detox, things started to repeat themselves. I woke up with a sharp headache, loaded up my lunchbox with dinner I'd made the night before (novel), got on the morning bus bleary eyed and yawning, greeted my coworkers with watering, tired eyes and slowly climbed into the day as it unfolded. Slowly, I might add. By 3:00 I was ready to take on the world. This is not how the office operates unfortunately and so I felt very disconnected from the pace of things. <br />
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I got much better sleep, however, because I was beyond exhausted by 9:00. I took much better care of myself (and my wallet!) in terms of food: everything home made, nothing but stuff from the produce section, and lots of prepared meals so no strange, whatever-I-see-first-in-the-fridge meals. <br />
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Now that it's finished I'm happily accepting coffee back into my life but no more than 1 cup a day. Ever. I feel a noticeable difference after the two slices of pizza I had today at work. Such an uncomfortable, heavy feeling in my stomach. Even if I was not (at all) energized by the detox, it did make me feel clean and light. Honestly, I felt like I weighed 10 pounds total. I was shriveling up by the day. Like kernal popping in reverse. How's that for an analogy.<br />
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How have I changed? I miss preparing my meals but I haven't gotten back into it. However, I did get lots of kale, apples and almonds for snacks this week and I drink more water now. I still have gluten-free oats and strawberries for breakfast and bought a blender last weekend for spinach and fruit smoothies in the morning. These small changes are nice to see. It's invigorating to see myself grow and change and become different, even in small ways. It means I am continuing to learn and adapt. And right about now in my life, I need that. </div>
K. A. Ruth Bushawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05657350975019777765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582363506557477283.post-53628872985776828902012-12-04T18:56:00.001-08:002012-12-04T18:57:41.938-08:00Detox time: Day 5<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Today begins the most intense days! My "afternoon snack" used to be a rice cake with almond butter. Now it's "2 scoops of nutritional shake mixed with 4 ounces of water and 4 ounces of unsweetened apple juice and 2 supplement capsules." Awesome. Basic diet for the next 3 days is raw/steamed cruciferous vegetables, spinach, apples, pears. Needless to say, today I was hungry.<br />
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I got home with a stronger headache than usual that put me in bed--not sleeping, just whimpering-- for a couple hours. When I hobbled out I steamed all the kale and brussel sprouts I could find and gobbled them up. Feel much better now.<br />
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Life centered around a healthy diet is all work, no play. At least for the first few days. Just spent the evening figuring out what tomorrow's meals will be and getting everything straight. That means washing the dishes so I had containers for tomorrow's lunch, rationing out the food in the fridge for each meal after that, cleaning up after making all my food (including picking up bits of chopped vegetable from all over the floor. how DOES it get everywhere?!) --regular food prep stuff I guess but it's after a long day of work and with work still needing to be done this evening. And feeling overall deflated from the whole thing.<br />
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How do people ever manage work, food AND children? Tell me that.<br />
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Me and my huge, bulging (3rd) bag of leafy greens on my way home from Giant Eagle (Pittsburgh grocery store chain. What does 'Giant' or 'Eagle' have to do with food?) </div>
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(and the awkward smile on purpose. bear with me.)</div>
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K. A. Ruth Bushawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05657350975019777765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582363506557477283.post-12531188929325333572012-12-03T19:54:00.004-08:002012-12-03T20:04:51.516-08:00Detox time: Day 2, 3, 4<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The three things I've learned about detoxing:<br />
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1.) you will make 3 separate trips to grocery store because you still not have enough fruts and vegetables. (and ask the question: WHY is broccoli in THREE separate spots?! and there are absolutely no peaches OR plums?)<br />
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2.) you will learn how to season with herbs because without salt everything tastes like wet cardboard. dill weed is nice with talapia. stuff like that. and lemon juice will save the day.<br />
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3.) you can never be prepared enough. preparing beforehand is the key! know the recipes. get the ingredients. make all your meals the day before. plan them out. know what snacks you're having tomorrow the night before. Came home with a headache and burnt the cauliflower because I was in such a frenzied hungry hurry. Ugh!<br />
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Breakfast on day 2: So bland I almost cried. Bananas and gluten free quinoa somethin-or-other. And almond milk. Which did little in the way of flavor. </div>
K. A. Ruth Bushawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05657350975019777765noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582363506557477283.post-90843734798970769702012-11-30T18:15:00.002-08:002012-11-30T18:15:47.729-08:00It's detox time: Day 1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Today I found out what a total wimp I am. I was pretty cocky last night when I joined the throng of girls just out of yoga and aging, glam hippies at the local WholeFoods to pick up my stuff from my detox food list.<br />
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For those of you who don't know, I'm doing a detox for work. We do a lot of "walk a mile" research where we try to understand a person's life by getting into their shoes as much as possible. For the current project I'm working on, a detox was a great way to understand the person we are designing for. Because, as I learned today, there is a universe of difference between hearing about how to do a detox and ACTUALLY doing one.<br />
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One word to sum up day one: miserable. absolutely miserable. The food part wasn't too bad. Besides a lot of tastelessness and non-excitement leading up to each meal, the food really wasn't too bad. It felt good to eat "cleanly": non-gluten oats with rice milk and blackberries, avocado and tomato spinach salad for lunch, my almonds and apple for lunch and tilapia with brown rice for dinner were really not too bad. Utterly boring but not too bad. Pretty sure I know what it feels like now to being a camel and eat the same thing for every meal. Nothing tasted too different than the next thing so I realized I was eating for the sake of getting food inside my body.<br />
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The zinger was the zero coffee. NO ONE TOLD ME! good freaking grief. I now have a huge place in my heart for people trying to kick bad habits because the withdraw from caffeine today made me feel like a back-alley junkie. Sore muscles, unbelievable sleepiness, incredibly strong nausea and a skull-wide migraine-y headache that has lasted a full 24 hours (I started no caffeine yesterday but a headache was the only side effect until today.) At one point I felt like I had the flu: kinda of shivery, congested feeling and achey all over. Who even am I? and is there coffee rehab? And yes, I was grumpy and unsocial able.<br />
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(Dear person reading this, do not quit caffeine cold turkey EVER. Be sensible and lessen your intake over a span of two weeks. I found this out after a panicked browse through the ol' google archives.)<br />
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Going to bed early tonight after drinking a ton of water, both of which should help take the edge off.<br />
I would ask that you pray for me/think of me but that I remember "oh right, this is self-inflicted."<br />
And this is research. and I'm learning. But seriously: ouch.<br />
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Tomorrow I'll run to the grocery store to get a few of the items I glazed over yesterday thinking I was such a badass detoxifer that I wouldn't need them. Things like almond butter, allowable (unsweetened) juices, herbal tea, herbs and spices, mangos, prunes--things that will help spruce things up a little bit. (Which brings is another thing: detoxes ain't cheap yo. Spent $102 last night and still have some holes to fill in. don't do it unless you mean it.)<br />
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More tomorrow. 9 more days of this shiz!<br />
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K. A. Ruth Bushawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05657350975019777765noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582363506557477283.post-51689604403527791342012-10-02T21:34:00.000-07:002012-10-02T21:38:34.467-07:00east coast west coast<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Last week, I spent Wednesday's early morning taking a solo walk through our nation's capitol with an iced starbucks coffee in one hand and my iPhone in the other, my thumb tirelessly skimming the surface of the map app. It is, by the way, moments like this that make me grateful for my iPhone. In the same way that I am grateful for a loving mother, a roof over my head and my daily meal, I'm am thankful for my iPhone. I don't know what I'd do without it. It gave me absolute, head-held-high bravery to walk out of my hotel door, onto the bustling streets of D.C. and miles down Pennsylvania Avenue. I knew I'd be back in time for breakfast. And that a cup of coffee was waiting for me on the opposite side of my second intersection. <br />
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That same week, on Saturday evening, I found myself on a similar walk. Only this time, it was evening and I was some 2,000 miles west of the Washington monument. I didn't need my phone because my return destination was perched on a high hill above the beach I traveled to. The only question would be how exactly to climb back up in the darkness that enveloped the landscape after the sun slipped behind the silky Pacific. And where exactly I'd left my shoes. And if it'd be alright to grace the marbled lobby of my hotel in my sea splashed jeans and freshly salted hair. <br />
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K. A. Ruth Bushawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05657350975019777765noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582363506557477283.post-27618795263173767782012-09-08T08:46:00.000-07:002012-09-08T09:18:58.155-07:00Would you like the grand tour? <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Yes,
that's Nutella on our breakfast table. Eric and I realized this morning
that breakfast has no dessert. We decided to change things. (I didn't bother doing the dishes for you. We're good friends, right?) </div>
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I know Nate Berkus says NEVER to have an office in your bedroom. But you know, <i>whatever.</i> I'm thrilled to pieces that we actually have room for "an office." Maybe I'll even use it. Side note: Pittsburgh has blessed us with zero closet space. Say hello to vacuum cleaners just hanging out like it's a house plant. What to do, what to do. <br />
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My Tobi, and my (little) Dad and my Amazing Grace perfume (til the end baby.) And that's my wedding bouquet. I honestly can't decide if it's too "Great Expectations" to keep my wedding bouquet but it's so stinkin meaningful! I can't throw it out, right ? </div>
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There are some things I care about and some things I do not. I do not care about hanging things evenly. <i>Obviously. </i>I do care about a supporting local artists (Eric's friend from Denver did the top white piece. mmhmm.), frozen butterflies, red handkerchiefs on women's heads, sexy flower petals and the girl family pieces.<br />
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Eric spent one of our first weekends here putting together this headboard while I was out of town. (what!?!) It's absolutely gorgeous. Reclaimed wood and the whole bit. </div>
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The lover bookshelf.</div>
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Top: My aunt and uncle on their wedding day. Middle: my parent's engagement photo. Bottom: Eric and I on our 1st anniversary trip. </div>
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This door knob may or may not be the ENTIRE reason that we chose this apartment. </div>
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You
might have thought we had central air or something fancy like that
until this picture came along: two fans within six feet of each other.
Gotta say, I'm so proud of my Denver boy for being so graceful with this
heat and humidy. He's really knockin it out of the park. Only
occasionally has a melt down (now that i think about it, almost
literally.) where his eyes get all wide and throws his hands over his
head "THIS PLACE IS SO FREAKIN HOT!" but yeah otherwise, very graceful
about it.<br />
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The man himself. (His handiwork on the wall behind the couch. I'm so pumped to finally have enough wall space to hang his g o r g e o u s prints. In our last place they were tucked out of sight behind a book shelf. Saddest story ever told. )</div>
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K. A. Ruth Bushawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05657350975019777765noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582363506557477283.post-76902906624934743922012-06-24T18:21:00.002-07:002012-06-24T18:37:50.975-07:00#89 I went for a walk today<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It's too hot in our 3rd floor apartment around 6:00 pm. I like to think that this is when all the hot air that's been collecting onto the pavement all day long reverses direction--in a slow bounce--and finds it's way into all the unsuspecting open windows on it's way back up out of the city for the night. It gets trapped with all that ceiling everywhere and makes the place something that would be toasty warm and cozy. if this were January. and there was snow boots by the front door. but there's not. so I get out of the stuffy apartment where all the confused heat is and go where everything is moving around a little more. the street. my new streets. i took a walk three blocks north towards one of the busier streets and then doubled back through a vacant park, up alongside an old cemetery and back towards my apartment once the sun had officially tucked behind the tips of the furthest hill tops.<br />
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and snapped pictures of my favorite spots for you. isn't city texture exquisite? </div>
</div>K. A. Ruth Bushawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05657350975019777765noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582363506557477283.post-39044997884192329622012-06-02T19:37:00.001-07:002012-06-02T19:37:55.046-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br /></div>K. A. Ruth Bushawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05657350975019777765noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582363506557477283.post-44260799903286291882012-06-02T18:10:00.003-07:002012-06-16T14:59:52.301-07:00#88: paul simon: my home<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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No matter where I go, how I feel, who I'm with--or without--the minute I hear Paul Simon's voice I am home. Some little locked door behind my heart, right next to where my soul must be, bursts open and I remember everything that is good and right and lovely. Which is why, when I'm feeling like I need to recalculate, I listen to that man all day long. And then, just when I thought I couldn't love Mr. Simon anymore he goes a writes this song just for me on this long, lazy, quiet Saturday. My Pittsburgh adventure is forever marked.<br />
<br /></div>K. A. Ruth Bushawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05657350975019777765noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582363506557477283.post-78746688976367943482012-05-31T17:28:00.000-07:002012-06-02T18:29:12.269-07:00#87: pittsburgh observation #1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The entire city is filled with middle aged women who talk <i>very</i> loud, drawing out their vowels to nearly oblivion. They're initially obnoxious and then endearing. And they're everywhere. Instead of the buses being filled with young single, stroller wielding mothers, clusters of chirping teens and city-dusted men in their quiet corners, the bus system is pulsing with these clucking women. It's hilarious. Women who grab my arm--forearm to forearm with her tight, small fist around my elbow--when the bus stops too suddenly and say, <i>"Jus hold on to somethin, sweetie. Jus hold on to somethin."</i> Women who moan and complain about the bus being a whole hour late as they board in their blindingly white, pediatric shoes and then look at me and say with a side smile, <i>"I'm just so upset. I'm just so emotional."</i> They tug on suit jackets of the older gentleman who are standing to urge them switch spots because they'd really rather stand with a <i>"Go ahead now. Take a seat. Go on."</i> They holler up to the newest, slightly skittish bus rider who didn't bring enough for the bus fee, <i>"Don't worry about it honey, I got it." </i>as she pulls the dollar amount from the pocket book perched her lap and aggressively taps the gentleman in front so he'll pass it forward. It's a city full of put your jacket on, sit up straight and don't mumble mothers. That's what Pittsburgh is. The city of motherly love. </div>K. A. Ruth Bushawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05657350975019777765noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582363506557477283.post-17076170202062813102012-05-25T19:24:00.002-07:002012-06-02T18:31:56.462-07:00how to move to pittsburgh in 5 easy steps<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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say goodbye to your nearest and dearest. </div>
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that they'll be teaching like this ^ waiting for you. </div>
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set your alarm for 4:30 in the morning, brush your teeth with squinty eyes</div>
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and remember to pack your phone cord, your toothbrush and a scarf. </div>
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<br />
stop in chicago for a night with old college friends and a morning </div>
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with some pretty famous coffee to get you jazzed for the 24 toll roads</div>
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you'll hit over the next 8 hours</div>
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keep it together during the last 45 minutes of a 24 hour car ride.</div>
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(which I've always found to be the very worst part.)<br />
it usually helps to find the local techno radio station and stop every<br />
five minutes or so for a snack or two.<br />
<br />
<i>it's just that simple. see, you could move to pittsburgh too. </i></div>
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<br /></div>K. A. Ruth Bushawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05657350975019777765noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582363506557477283.post-80477454019389118552012-05-16T18:59:00.002-07:002012-05-17T08:43:32.811-07:00#86: i can't do it on my own<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Below you'll find a letter that my father wrote to his older sister, Melinda (who has just discovered that she has stage two melanoma, an aggressive form of skin cancer and while we're waiting to see whether the cancer has spread further, she's setting a date with doctors to have her big toe amputated.) I guess my mom was struck by the humble compassion in his letter too, since she sent it out in an email for us all to read. <br />
<div style="color: #666666;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i>sweet melinda,</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #666666;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>what a horrible reality you've suddenly had to face. we always know that fearful and terrible things happen in life, but when they show up in our very own everyday, it's a shock. i know your</i><i> world is being rocked and you are struggling to stay calm and be brave. i am completely without courage and have always been marked by fear and insecurity. so i've always found the Lord to be the only answer for every little (or big) thing because i know i don't have it in me. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i>last year I was reading a book about prayer, and something in particular from that book has really stayed with me. the writer was calling attention to God being our father. think of your own little child coming to you for help, and how you treat them. all that matters to you as their parent is that they belong to you and that you are in a position to help them. you don't care what tone of voice they use, what words come out of their mouth. you just take them into your arms and console and care for them. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i>this is how God, our heavenly father is toward us. this is the essence of the gospel, that we are no longer cosmic orphans. we have a perfect father who can do anything. he will never forsake us or fail us or reject us. there really is no other permanent comfort. go right to him and blubber uncontrollably. he loves you. he will take care of you. he will solve all your problems. what could possibly be better? we will also be talking to him about you, and asking him to really show up for you in a profound and reassuring way. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i>we love you,</i></span></div>
<div style="color: #666666;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>damien</i></span></div>
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<div>
<br />
I have no surgeries coming up, but sometime mid Thursday of next week, I'll be pushing past
Colorado's border to start an internship in the yet-unknown city of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania sans Eric, friends, a place of my own and certainty in my near future.<br />
<br />
In
the midst of all things (tiny little new jobs and great big scary
surgeries) this can be our bravery. We are no longer cosmic orphans. We are allowed the
great, luxurious freedom of throwing our hysterical, sobbing pleas for comfort onto the lap of a sympathetic heavenly father. <i><br /></i></div>
</div>K. A. Ruth Bushawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05657350975019777765noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582363506557477283.post-60706446120106795172012-05-01T20:16:00.000-07:002012-06-02T18:30:59.446-07:00#85 monday morning, you sure look fine.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh66iQj0hQqEs7NeMbA0ux6K4fksgiAh_glqwkrFWYD1iB-vdhKxFT_vpNFQkLdu7yX6_nUnE48G2-fltMPVvlcLsSWcMUgos4vubXOc-HC71wGUUmVO02uBpWu-SlMuEhyphenhyphenFST2_EJYzqfF/s1600/-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="475" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh66iQj0hQqEs7NeMbA0ux6K4fksgiAh_glqwkrFWYD1iB-vdhKxFT_vpNFQkLdu7yX6_nUnE48G2-fltMPVvlcLsSWcMUgos4vubXOc-HC71wGUUmVO02uBpWu-SlMuEhyphenhyphenFST2_EJYzqfF/s640/-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Most people dread Mondays like the yearly dentist appointment and math homework on a Wednesday afternoon. I've heard that they're unpopular. For sometime now, however, Mondays have my own personal, weekly, very quiet holiday. Even my beloved Sunday has momentarily slipped into a sad second when I think of my Mondays. While everybody else suits up and takes to the highways, the bus stops, the corner coffee shops for their first shot of the day, I'm only just slinking out of bed mindful to walk those twelve steps to the bathroom at meandering pace, making sure to crawl back into bed a few times before I commit to the journey. Only because I can. And because it feels so good. On Mondays, our apartment's sun soaked, cement porch that sprawls a good portion of the front lawn is all mine. All those new, bright white lawn chairs too. I can have my pick. A rickety old metal table teeters under the weight of my hopeful stack of books and unwritten notes. My keys, my coffee, a few pencils and my ever faithful v5 precision point pen rest on it's chipped, sun scorched surface available at my every whim. And the sun. That sun. Of all the things I would ask be at my beck and call, it would be the morning sun at ten o'clock on a cloudless spring day. And it is. Beyond all of Thursday's wildest hopes and dreams, the sun holds still in it's spot concentrating all of it's soul soothing rays straight into each shadow locked inch of me. And for a few short hours I am free. Utterly and incomparably. For a few hours, all relationships will mend and perhaps resume their old ease, forgiveness will be given and --what's more -- received, fear loosens it's grip on my shoulders, the corners of my lips and the sore bottoms of my feet. Mondays are my mend, my hope, my rest.</div>K. A. Ruth Bushawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05657350975019777765noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582363506557477283.post-21328318480614546712012-04-14T08:01:00.007-07:002012-04-14T08:28:39.669-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiePkCws9YF-lFd79yoQq57LxSGH5TENkJ9TOZ6jpTSy_ByWyASkl9DNOBoV6eaiJx-LMMKESqUrCAtYiGoK7Zn5EGbruCBPqcx5LFhI1rqTr81qaZTgR-sazrb5MclYHu9ss_TFjUXg8zj/s1600/-3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiePkCws9YF-lFd79yoQq57LxSGH5TENkJ9TOZ6jpTSy_ByWyASkl9DNOBoV6eaiJx-LMMKESqUrCAtYiGoK7Zn5EGbruCBPqcx5LFhI1rqTr81qaZTgR-sazrb5MclYHu9ss_TFjUXg8zj/s400/-3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5731277784231414306" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);font-family:georgia;font-size:180%;" >Forgiveness means</span><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" > refusing to make someone pay for what they did. However, to refrain from lashing out at someone when you want to do so with all your being is </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" >agony</span><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" >. It is a form of suffering. You not only suffer the original loss of happiness, reputation and opportunity but now you forgo the consolation of inflicting the same on them...It hurts terribly. Many people would say it feels like a kind of death. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 51, 51);font-size:85%;" >-Tim Keller, The Reason for God</span>K. A. Ruth Bushawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05657350975019777765noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582363506557477283.post-72142048074983848752012-04-01T23:47:00.018-07:002012-04-14T08:00:33.767-07:00and may the odds be ever in your favor<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi0sD8y5s9DMN5G60NeoTpToIUTjB0ZXyUt0maQEkj1gGpC-2P5nKgiClgjTpr2mzAVb7nMjpzWcu262uR_VDLY-5UVCggSOBKyS7Qtt9TmKETq_bcN2dkfUcOvpASFE3ESxaw1zaoL2ID/s1600/0316-Hunger-Games-movie_full_600.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 508px; height: 337px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi0sD8y5s9DMN5G60NeoTpToIUTjB0ZXyUt0maQEkj1gGpC-2P5nKgiClgjTpr2mzAVb7nMjpzWcu262uR_VDLY-5UVCggSOBKyS7Qtt9TmKETq_bcN2dkfUcOvpASFE3ESxaw1zaoL2ID/s400/0316-Hunger-Games-movie_full_600.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5726703307471217282" border="0" /></a><br />I don't know what it is about <span style="font-style: italic;">The Hunger Games.</span> I just can't shake it from the place where it has landed deep inside my thoughts. When I'm easing down from the day, sorting through what has happened in the time since my head lifted from a wrinkled pillowcase, I continually return to the raw mental space that holds <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Katniss</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Everdeen</span> and District 12 in some gritty version of a futuristic America. It's not a grinding, anxious space but similar to a malleable, clay-like object that I continually turn over and flatten in my palm in a rhythmic way, only partly aware the I'm trying to give familiarity to it's form. And that it's killing me. Something of the same feeling when you're sitting catty corner from that women in the restaurant who should be a stranger but, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">perplexingly</span>, is not at all. Somehow, you can almost predict her movements and know that she's kind and has a brother. You've seen her before. Where was it? You know her. How?<br /><br />It's something about the chilling Effie Trinket in her shocking pastels on that dusty stage. It's the dull but frantic mental terrain of a young girl, hardened far before her time. It's the fear inside each colorless dress and boot and button up shirt standing in those long, sloppy lines as they wait for their name not to be called--dear god, save me--by someone whose has forgotten that they have a soul. It's wild power in the face of a stale and dry hopelessness. A cooped up privileged few so blinded by the color of their shoe laces and eye lashes that they pay no mind to unspeakable crimes happening in the very place they call home.<br /><br />It would not be so captivating--so deeply horrifying--if I did not know that these things have happened and are happening now. And don't these things always happen while a comfortable minority sits on the sidelines cooking broccoli and shopping for cereal? It's not in the face of full, naked awareness that droves of innocent people are subjected to brutality but when those who can help--who can bring clarity to muddied disaster--decide not to. Right? It is, in the end, an unwillingness to engage in difficult, sprawling devastation. Fear becomes--through some twisted mental decision--a happy, embarrassing ignorance; transforms it's owner into an obnoxious, pitiful Effie Trinket teetering on silly heels before a crowd of drooping gazes and pallid complexions. The microphone is directed towards our mouth and still--through fear, through ignorance, through an unfathomable selfishness--we fail to see the young, the poor, the hopeless, the unborn silently screaming for justice as we happily call their names for a cruelty that we mistake for brief entertainment.<br /><br />update : for instance, <a style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);" href="http://facultyblog.eternitybiblecollege.com/2012/04/09/post-birth-abortions-who-are-we-kidding/">this unspeakable</a>.K. A. Ruth Bushawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05657350975019777765noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582363506557477283.post-16681566209955339652012-04-01T22:39:00.009-07:002012-04-01T23:21:14.690-07:00the kendalls come to denver<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnXQm4R4dcNSYFhh3TRrL0V3gxCirm1UmulgCRF4b_mi3b06jF-T_QyL2pcCPcR_QkPs33E7ArEqtWbunrJ3IsNdIABf5dmfFoLhscfxcTj4MlP6C6SzpqQ3YVlFJ9n_uHhiIRT2Z-6i12/s1600/IMG_0734.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnXQm4R4dcNSYFhh3TRrL0V3gxCirm1UmulgCRF4b_mi3b06jF-T_QyL2pcCPcR_QkPs33E7ArEqtWbunrJ3IsNdIABf5dmfFoLhscfxcTj4MlP6C6SzpqQ3YVlFJ9n_uHhiIRT2Z-6i12/s400/IMG_0734.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5726676334629179186" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyqa6P-dz7IhUSHBfgVVPbXzF4pGDGtuYfQYnLoMRELxOnvG6Ypl5-XDllJK7lsaZ1fAa4vOEKwwRaFRDFZ1qMHUYQWpf0bA9lUBeIZHdFm-pGCW2by8-uEIvEeBVEAZ6cVY8J4kG7x-x5/s1600/IMG_0718.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyqa6P-dz7IhUSHBfgVVPbXzF4pGDGtuYfQYnLoMRELxOnvG6Ypl5-XDllJK7lsaZ1fAa4vOEKwwRaFRDFZ1qMHUYQWpf0bA9lUBeIZHdFm-pGCW2by8-uEIvEeBVEAZ6cVY8J4kG7x-x5/s400/IMG_0718.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5726683344164876994" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvulflLS0AzIfMu_qgrkIE_l-OG-7qtRwuDA1EQSWI7VOab0uVRLVG9li-XVOd79-YwYdDlqwNsdqhpVBJ9cLw31Xi1MBa8gtm83M_Sic7mbST47-BbLU-4S7uvZvuLM9UAr4JXsKgIHUv/s1600/7992fa20743b11e1abb01231381b65e3_7.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvulflLS0AzIfMu_qgrkIE_l-OG-7qtRwuDA1EQSWI7VOab0uVRLVG9li-XVOd79-YwYdDlqwNsdqhpVBJ9cLw31Xi1MBa8gtm83M_Sic7mbST47-BbLU-4S7uvZvuLM9UAr4JXsKgIHUv/s400/7992fa20743b11e1abb01231381b65e3_7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5726684364289830466" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivSGbXUYzkURNkclMZimhoNWVHjkslWJyGwpvvkaWeluxmhDXgsdbvlp-KbvtruLJuGqhgwsJBReXdi-iv-uNdzViWVomI7RmegwFG6RLsRiAUNpE0SXFvUAuriUTKx_bTXB81qwHpz2nF/s1600/IMG_0729.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivSGbXUYzkURNkclMZimhoNWVHjkslWJyGwpvvkaWeluxmhDXgsdbvlp-KbvtruLJuGqhgwsJBReXdi-iv-uNdzViWVomI7RmegwFG6RLsRiAUNpE0SXFvUAuriUTKx_bTXB81qwHpz2nF/s400/IMG_0729.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5726683337455898818" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAQLaqhZFmvDc6HnXH9ttu_dhYEk0TdK7xxnLleoFj9SzgI8cevXl7VbSr0V637tsQsUzYFb-nmhQbckVm3u95C0iaqIfXWqVt0rvQ2j2r8EQIdnOjMoNv18O6c0aYNViV4yWq-vtEVViM/s1600/IMG_0694.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAQLaqhZFmvDc6HnXH9ttu_dhYEk0TdK7xxnLleoFj9SzgI8cevXl7VbSr0V637tsQsUzYFb-nmhQbckVm3u95C0iaqIfXWqVt0rvQ2j2r8EQIdnOjMoNv18O6c0aYNViV4yWq-vtEVViM/s400/IMG_0694.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5726683333048053538" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZwoytucn4_ZJrg36oLbAQhMMGcWzla_1GgUrMlCmtR_U3tFBtXJf47iAJbMY9i_19E3WqiJTX3Hh_sU0e9KGzi0RCfXcwqWDIdoifv-1XW41J7WGXMhP1G2yGB9IfMzyU3ostHAmm8f3l/s1600/-7.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZwoytucn4_ZJrg36oLbAQhMMGcWzla_1GgUrMlCmtR_U3tFBtXJf47iAJbMY9i_19E3WqiJTX3Hh_sU0e9KGzi0RCfXcwqWDIdoifv-1XW41J7WGXMhP1G2yGB9IfMzyU3ostHAmm8f3l/s400/-7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5726683312328163026" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF2NhQbeL3tlenKsnl5ESyANEqF_hjPfGOLDFcZgr5lHlW93iT3-aj-NHTV-lv2jYYSOQMglxj7ekF9ZMqrb0DA5RXEF_fxdKgS_y81hKM3g1IEEBkix3C3pjDFeGHvX7fhVVf69lYht5x/s1600/-9.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF2NhQbeL3tlenKsnl5ESyANEqF_hjPfGOLDFcZgr5lHlW93iT3-aj-NHTV-lv2jYYSOQMglxj7ekF9ZMqrb0DA5RXEF_fxdKgS_y81hKM3g1IEEBkix3C3pjDFeGHvX7fhVVf69lYht5x/s400/-9.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5726683354039660306" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNVjyL644T0ayfTutBwVGLff1DlBF6SyTv_Nd2zbAxjtE5pMoH4tI0ggCRVf6eq7epBsnTBvwYpN6djhPHCPjP5G-HWsOFvhdytZZPddbsazRBC4vMvFz5q7sX0CYmRmZsSK9nykFH5RSS/s1600/IMG_0717.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNVjyL644T0ayfTutBwVGLff1DlBF6SyTv_Nd2zbAxjtE5pMoH4tI0ggCRVf6eq7epBsnTBvwYpN6djhPHCPjP5G-HWsOFvhdytZZPddbsazRBC4vMvFz5q7sX0CYmRmZsSK9nykFH5RSS/s400/IMG_0717.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5726681080004855122" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsfC_d6fJhaW_eidyI7Sq2qTyehqkmf1aEUxm6FXosRHRRcjkB8P3GIfvKLokWvbaq-_EuYTtrcdU6_Mq_Bq2kf3vicM6jQJl2hvCAZINbejrIoNHc7q2sQVp77jAFzqwSO4R_nMlYs0-N/s1600/-10.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsfC_d6fJhaW_eidyI7Sq2qTyehqkmf1aEUxm6FXosRHRRcjkB8P3GIfvKLokWvbaq-_EuYTtrcdU6_Mq_Bq2kf3vicM6jQJl2hvCAZINbejrIoNHc7q2sQVp77jAFzqwSO4R_nMlYs0-N/s400/-10.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5726681090794465394" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8MI9tWEcOvUfEnX-ZMAbZegz9n6BHHmBmAS6YfURW9lk3ROO4lWbiQAbTypDan061lMlo3TT_eOctp0qVALZEqR0GvlRa-71xA0Dvnyyab49eLLpG61m1j8GNAeCS3rIUOPhY-3QBu4Al/s1600/IMG_0732.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8MI9tWEcOvUfEnX-ZMAbZegz9n6BHHmBmAS6YfURW9lk3ROO4lWbiQAbTypDan061lMlo3TT_eOctp0qVALZEqR0GvlRa-71xA0Dvnyyab49eLLpG61m1j8GNAeCS3rIUOPhY-3QBu4Al/s400/IMG_0732.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5726674675452571730" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRWkBiWkSug_aeaYkWJrcE_tFWoL3FJ_JUirBcjoT1p1xLC2ZNSXYN8lFCr27f91lMXbsQ7OYU7xRaLt_4dHrDfazlNuCICHoHguhvQ8LPpMT-qhDQlfhQ4oZMup7AMFR_PwnmHEQKmVW6/s1600/IMG_0710.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRWkBiWkSug_aeaYkWJrcE_tFWoL3FJ_JUirBcjoT1p1xLC2ZNSXYN8lFCr27f91lMXbsQ7OYU7xRaLt_4dHrDfazlNuCICHoHguhvQ8LPpMT-qhDQlfhQ4oZMup7AMFR_PwnmHEQKmVW6/s400/IMG_0710.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5726674648728633778" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGv-iZ_CkSzIfdc9I4it7WL_Luf2ByKEvqbrvCGefoaqqVpmlyD3RiFqrmRfsE_ff53Qaa5arW2TMxXNnQD8iDbUcMaPE8CfhWDUD0Ts8Ug46WU0G_6q33mUW7Zxsbl4Hr4l1sf8XDCZQF/s1600/IMG_0741.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGv-iZ_CkSzIfdc9I4it7WL_Luf2ByKEvqbrvCGefoaqqVpmlyD3RiFqrmRfsE_ff53Qaa5arW2TMxXNnQD8iDbUcMaPE8CfhWDUD0Ts8Ug46WU0G_6q33mUW7Zxsbl4Hr4l1sf8XDCZQF/s400/IMG_0741.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5726676342995235634" border="0" /></a></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUQnCkQIHM2rBYU3aIXBgDfJsxE8X-r2Vs9dP220rQtl9CbE8CADxDuj7QQfL0J0vrCVZZKPpeDZR-iSY1sJvEt0Mum_qONPcvHFoM44LAYrJ-T9mHPBhYV8eh8ThIb2a6Kc11r727Zo7b/s1600/IMG_0740.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUQnCkQIHM2rBYU3aIXBgDfJsxE8X-r2Vs9dP220rQtl9CbE8CADxDuj7QQfL0J0vrCVZZKPpeDZR-iSY1sJvEt0Mum_qONPcvHFoM44LAYrJ-T9mHPBhYV8eh8ThIb2a6Kc11r727Zo7b/s400/IMG_0740.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5726676337903841234" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXUE-A7ANfkrWrXMxLQGXuIFh0yE8EKiVhCm-61moiqnZa2zd30E1jskL0pOq98AOdBqtuEY5WTEkQwad6GDGwDFdDf7zm9Qq94PhIyo0Pbqq8C7xMUmQqiCNvYomJD8y7REXnDTnjE2Dv/s1600/IMG_0748.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXUE-A7ANfkrWrXMxLQGXuIFh0yE8EKiVhCm-61moiqnZa2zd30E1jskL0pOq98AOdBqtuEY5WTEkQwad6GDGwDFdDf7zm9Qq94PhIyo0Pbqq8C7xMUmQqiCNvYomJD8y7REXnDTnjE2Dv/s400/IMG_0748.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5726676352215807778" border="0" /></a>K. A. Ruth Bushawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05657350975019777765noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582363506557477283.post-26776448498736560112012-03-21T17:17:00.008-07:002012-04-01T21:26:19.081-07:00photo journal: spring edition<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE1ChETn5tZB6758TzZRbW6ar6a8zufwYgHWRMvVcewV7DqKfYw8nDuopiaKgU96rUDbkSAyPHmr1wyVgY0r7FWpG00sGDeVEMylCxrjsvyJhR31bGhzBJA4mt_T-vIA-B4oh0naq3rUqu/s1600/IMG_0604.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 298px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE1ChETn5tZB6758TzZRbW6ar6a8zufwYgHWRMvVcewV7DqKfYw8nDuopiaKgU96rUDbkSAyPHmr1wyVgY0r7FWpG00sGDeVEMylCxrjsvyJhR31bGhzBJA4mt_T-vIA-B4oh0naq3rUqu/s400/IMG_0604.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5722510927375712658" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">comparing paper swatches for a blue-inspired bride.<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibKZit1AsuBPrp9HkES_pW1RNDGET_1CUEZw31hwNsj0ucJHlOpQMT4uQfFodZOVGOe4OQ_vucYDjkN5DG-4PXN9KU25ttRDGYF3nASq9-c4xQz022Jn0dK13y7w-txbyZ-U17WfIT_lDk/s400/IMG_0609.PNG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5722509825682241250" border="0" />on a total jazz + blues kick these days.<br />my favorite station: <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">esperanza</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">spaulding</span>. woo, girl.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibKZit1AsuBPrp9HkES_pW1RNDGET_1CUEZw31hwNsj0ucJHlOpQMT4uQfFodZOVGOe4OQ_vucYDjkN5DG-4PXN9KU25ttRDGYF3nASq9-c4xQz022Jn0dK13y7w-txbyZ-U17WfIT_lDk/s1600/IMG_0609.PNG"></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx6TwcIqN-lwNliVxgyLXUFfFG3c7vdypF-kG2y63ewMhGzpFm_-KOmeXGa5zp8BbsiQu5n0JJXMAy0N4yZbpjTkiyhycE0CX_6bIkmlJnvDTXxJeBKPuxUGZfiQiamrwQgMPW6Cgmj4lV/s1600/IMG_0621.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx6TwcIqN-lwNliVxgyLXUFfFG3c7vdypF-kG2y63ewMhGzpFm_-KOmeXGa5zp8BbsiQu5n0JJXMAy0N4yZbpjTkiyhycE0CX_6bIkmlJnvDTXxJeBKPuxUGZfiQiamrwQgMPW6Cgmj4lV/s400/IMG_0621.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5722509821755491634" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Eric's <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">research</span> these days: schools to teach at in <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Pittsburgh</span>,<br />how to build a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">kayak</span> and where to find a puppy dog in the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Pittsburgh</span> area.<br /></div></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFmDlPCTrF3UYqO03GlkRgYTLdIMou3b6KMZsAJ8HB6Par3B0Ll033Fu4ywXUCxE9GaN7zsybFABjAVQVkJ9Zh7Mq5CqAxqk7fzsb3V4Hfhr4K3l3iCg-KHtok8fl4jiaU5zgeQcpeXeiN/s1600/IMG_0625.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFmDlPCTrF3UYqO03GlkRgYTLdIMou3b6KMZsAJ8HB6Par3B0Ll033Fu4ywXUCxE9GaN7zsybFABjAVQVkJ9Zh7Mq5CqAxqk7fzsb3V4Hfhr4K3l3iCg-KHtok8fl4jiaU5zgeQcpeXeiN/s400/IMG_0625.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5722509813263182514" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />playing with Evelyn Keith, a little belonging to my friend from highschool.<br />having/seeing/thinking about having offspring is crazsee.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgELLz6T979RK2HcKrUqN0V5NMpBZfNSvaKuJ_7PAE6QTYgU-Qt9zm6kAAkzPqIGriK3YVrys0u8-K1halES27kgZK191sx3U4Bqd9xTJuxGR1CxfCOMnFu4SOj4chGSgiSt-sWQdDNVUAO/s1600/IMG_0649.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgELLz6T979RK2HcKrUqN0V5NMpBZfNSvaKuJ_7PAE6QTYgU-Qt9zm6kAAkzPqIGriK3YVrys0u8-K1halES27kgZK191sx3U4Bqd9xTJuxGR1CxfCOMnFu4SOj4chGSgiSt-sWQdDNVUAO/s400/IMG_0649.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5722509804127301234" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />I try to spend my Mondays with my Lauren.<br />The girl is a machine.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJYydl-DlVg0Teyfa2B4Yphkivqt4OrbQtS5BHCsi24xoa8sbVCj23zwsOzOxg-KofwmJ0WayhQ3cZpB1CJa09LzQFgRvwWLFdGy0puHlbIfeWliLxRgNh0bqjZU6vnhIiyDONA321i9kG/s1600/IMG_0611.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJYydl-DlVg0Teyfa2B4Yphkivqt4OrbQtS5BHCsi24xoa8sbVCj23zwsOzOxg-KofwmJ0WayhQ3cZpB1CJa09LzQFgRvwWLFdGy0puHlbIfeWliLxRgNh0bqjZU6vnhIiyDONA321i9kG/s400/IMG_0611.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5722509830348458434" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Monday are now dubbed my "make up free day". My skin is pretty awful. not exactly <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">porcelain</span> at all (<span style="font-style: italic;">how do they do that?</span>). but i believe that even imperfect skin deserves a day in the sun.<br /></div>K. A. Ruth Bushawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05657350975019777765noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582363506557477283.post-12069560865038151442012-02-29T22:33:00.011-08:002012-04-01T21:29:42.711-07:00#84: louisa may alcott, hunger games + snoozin<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvw93B0CFvU9gWcnpZgwR9QaTUBo8WZ_LswvW1osjegDkttvUTFaypp7iQnYtCqDERiFrXg6VNVCFQgqlIbyBGw-cNP-l7wpGuk2WWDb1R8k24v5DF4aOMzIt_yS5OO-B41MQd_pMjxt1N/s1600/DSCF1044.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvw93B0CFvU9gWcnpZgwR9QaTUBo8WZ_LswvW1osjegDkttvUTFaypp7iQnYtCqDERiFrXg6VNVCFQgqlIbyBGw-cNP-l7wpGuk2WWDb1R8k24v5DF4aOMzIt_yS5OO-B41MQd_pMjxt1N/s400/DSCF1044.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714819965512004850" border="0" /></a><br />when you wake up, it will be <span style="font-style: italic;">march!</span> (or if you are up eating your morning helping of scrambled eggs and toast then you are decidedly sitting in the future and the first statement did not apply to you.)<br /><br />march means a lot of things to me. here are a few:<br /><br />1. it is the month my sister comes to visit me<br /><br />2. the beginning of spring - real flowers. growing. with nature smells. remember that?<br /><br />3. it is the month my sister comes to visit me<br /><br />4. the birthday month for my mother + lauren cales. grateful for mothers and friends that help you carry the load.<br /><br />5. sienna, my sister, is coming to the mountains<br /><br />6. the last name of meg, jo, beth and amy. and i mean, come on.<br /><br />7. the official, no-turning-back-now archway into summertime<br /><br />8. the thing you do when you have a resolute direction. and yes, i do.<br /><br />9. the hunger games out this month. katniss everdeen, i am <span style="font-style: italic;">so</span> there for you.<br /><br />10. <span style="font-style: italic;">sister sister sister sister sister</span> + her husband. and a weekend in the mountains.<br />and lots of slippers, socks, snoozin' and treats..<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >what does march mean for you?</span>K. A. Ruth Bushawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05657350975019777765noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582363506557477283.post-13552932523350865542012-02-19T19:04:00.008-08:002012-02-29T22:33:32.255-08:00#83: mr. + mrs. kendall are coming to visit!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMEtzPt88IA031yiHnTNQDYpFqCZ6Phm_-8JbF9CrOvJzgNmmYg7j7TiuTdPgcNjvT5moHIpRegE8hNpknvx_QdLCHFUjGML2qrBAub_y85JbYy9BIgX_SOR2UiweujzOEhgDaT1jHWOUW/s1600/seester.png"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 416px; height: 622px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMEtzPt88IA031yiHnTNQDYpFqCZ6Phm_-8JbF9CrOvJzgNmmYg7j7TiuTdPgcNjvT5moHIpRegE8hNpknvx_QdLCHFUjGML2qrBAub_y85JbYy9BIgX_SOR2UiweujzOEhgDaT1jHWOUW/s400/seester.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714812854298122146" border="0" /></a><br />my sister is coming next month and i think i might just fall over in complete satisfaction when her plane lands. just really collapse in complete relief that part of my soul is here for a little while to share in my story for 4 quick days.<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">i'm</span> thankful for planes, sisters, brother-in-laws and well, distance too i guess. without 2,000 miles between us, visits would not be nearly as thrilling. but <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">i'll</span> be happy when i don't have to pay hundreds of dollars to see her new haircut in person.K. A. Ruth Bushawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05657350975019777765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582363506557477283.post-37112322622459272082012-02-17T08:07:00.013-08:002012-02-19T19:37:11.973-08:00this is why i'm thankful for justin bso valentines gets a bad rap. i totally get that. everyone is down on valentines day. just like everyone is down on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">justin</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">bieber</span> and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">mariah</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">carey</span>. and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">ew</span> no, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">bruno</span> mars is so annoying. the twilight series is a curse word.<br /><br />first of all, when did we forget that fun is <span style="font-style: italic;">fun</span>? where in the world would we be without tangibly tacky romance and famous teens who sing shallow songs with synchronized dances to match? cooped up in dusty libraries eating saltines?<br /><br />second of all, we all need reminders that we are not <span style="font-style: italic;">nearly</span> as cool and collected as we'd like to think we are. that, in the end, everyone is in the same boat. valentines day (and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">justin</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">mariah</span>, books about vampires who fall in love) remind us of our globally shared desire. the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">embarrassing</span> bouquet of dozen red roses, the millionth song about love from a 13 year old, a teenage romance to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">idealic and potentially dangerous</span> proportions is humankind expressing that basic longing for love that defies our otherwise bleak reality. and while we inevitably fall short in our search, we still reach (write, sing, act, dance--explore what it feels like to be human) and that is gorgeous.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1rFVvbePN9um2lRFxox5cxp4r4oQJbjs9DxaKZEA77ERLv1e2Agx0PeZOZzY2hXMtJp7xgbe1e-VZiOynSR6t1njnBQ40tGwq_O4E8USSA0v39qaS8iSiVdktl5WTD96Vm77sxs6_P1jt/s1600/-1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimFivXSUFNSYdHm6HCqD99GyZSup35beTppPQXcFtJuCrgyVI7ZLhtfBJkeAd5Z5O9Y9W5xTZIqPsXXsdt8aTA77AxEiYL7TQgVh5L862nYVXl1V4Dg1mgeO4yS2knB1-V03QHSpTB1X6p/s400/-2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710139711616825570" border="0" /></a>K. A. Ruth Bushawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05657350975019777765noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582363506557477283.post-35915645098070465222012-02-05T09:25:00.000-08:002012-02-05T09:39:08.126-08:00change of address: make note<span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">i'll</span> be changing my URL (something other than <span style="font-weight: bold;">kyriehoward.blogspot.com</span>) in a few days. so, if my little notes are of any importance to you, please leave your email in the comment thread and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">i'll</span> send you the updated link.<br /><br />i sincerely appreciate anyone who checks this blog and keeps me writing <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">regularly</span>. it's a huge gift. also, if you read my blog, but have never commented, let me know! it's crazy <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">encouraging</span> and will probably mean <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">i'll</span> write better and more often.<br /><br />if i don't recieve any comments, i'll deleting my blog. because that is zero fun sir. so lemme know if i should stick around, will ya? </span><br /><br />countdown begiiiiins now.K. A. Ruth Bushawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05657350975019777765noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582363506557477283.post-28549476000394148732012-01-17T18:20:00.000-08:002012-01-19T08:44:01.850-08:00Hunger Games: the day after<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-JcjZFqA-0-ogky6gke_DyM-89urrexLZu_9wAnuEzsUCaph_63CTJr2VfhKKfb_KiagUvuKI_Gg-HVtUwPUjm8IHVVCIfumEnLf33EZ5Nb29gHgkn22RhQRZAmkD3uGlT8spbe7d1VX4/s1600/24ce23b240af11e19896123138142014_7.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-JcjZFqA-0-ogky6gke_DyM-89urrexLZu_9wAnuEzsUCaph_63CTJr2VfhKKfb_KiagUvuKI_Gg-HVtUwPUjm8IHVVCIfumEnLf33EZ5Nb29gHgkn22RhQRZAmkD3uGlT8spbe7d1VX4/s400/24ce23b240af11e19896123138142014_7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698792072024866994" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;">the thing i hate (detest, despise, absolutely abhor) about good books is that they always go away. and you have no one to blame but a back cover (for being there) and your own eyes for not moving slower. and what good would going slower do? the stack of pages grasped in my left hand would only get thicker no matter the pace of my pupils. I just finished reading The Hunger Games yesterday (<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Monday</span>) after buying it <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Sunday</span> afternoon. I was just starving, fighting, running, killing and now <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">i'm</span> back on my couch eating grapes with socks on. i hate that. and no, the phrase "all good things must come to an end" <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">doesn't</span> really cut it.<br /><br />also feel like i should be able to say "bye" to someone; be able to write someone letters after such a departure or have a few handy photographs hanging around somewhere to remember and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">reminisce</span> but <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Katniss</span> isn't a someone. She's only words on a page. Isn't that heartbreaking to think about? I remember feeling this same way about Harry (Bella, Jonas, Frodo, Tom, Anne) once upon a time.<br /></div>K. A. Ruth Bushawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05657350975019777765noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582363506557477283.post-44814702243441205872012-01-12T21:26:00.000-08:002012-01-12T21:43:32.090-08:00i can't get no<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; color: rgb(51, 255, 51);font-size:180%;" ><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">all things are full of weariness;</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia; color: rgb(51, 255, 51);font-size:180%;" ><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">a man cannot utter it.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia; color: rgb(51, 255, 51);font-size:180%;" ><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">the eye is not satisfied with seeing</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia; color: rgb(51, 255, 51);font-size:180%;" ><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">the ear is not satisfied with hearing. </span></span><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);font-size:78%;" >ecclesiastes 1:8</span><br /><br />It's a sleepy night. Eric's been snoozing* for a solid hour and I'm still<br /></div>trying to get myself under the covers. I appreciated this verse tonight<br />when I opened to Ecclesiastes. I know I always try to find uplifting verses<br />full of promises and sunshine (unicorns, summer vacations that never end...)<br />but tonight I enjoyed the "I hear ya." sentiment. It's a weary world. Sit tight.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">*snoozin' and treats. treats and snoozin'. (just a lil <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ta9K22D0o5Q">Marcel the Shell</a> shout out.)</span>K. A. Ruth Bushawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05657350975019777765noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582363506557477283.post-59606291207493505602012-01-10T21:07:00.000-08:002012-01-10T21:41:51.752-08:00the heartbeat of life again<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtPxjm-4L2LzIYiY831M6Nl-_OAM0bJWhp6IHIttKn5nK7IekxDNdlSsk82aVRyMZMB30icbHBX6C_bf8WcSffIclkrTJYpFp5J_dteVPvVUMQPYni1BxjBHahe0iDVnxtRmVhgft1UMyr/s1600/MP125.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 322px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtPxjm-4L2LzIYiY831M6Nl-_OAM0bJWhp6IHIttKn5nK7IekxDNdlSsk82aVRyMZMB30icbHBX6C_bf8WcSffIclkrTJYpFp5J_dteVPvVUMQPYni1BxjBHahe0iDVnxtRmVhgft1UMyr/s400/MP125.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696244976303886018" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />While I've been ignoring this blog (I apologize to my few + faithful readers ) during the past couple months, I've been mailing many many handwritten, real life thank you notes. Thank you for coming, thank you for my graduation gift, thank you for my christmas gift, thank you for hangin in there with me and every other sort of gratitude-infused message.<br /><br />While I'm thankful for everyone in my life-- people who come to see me, people who get me beautiful things, people who look out for me and encourage me -- I am also completely relieved that the season of getting, giving, seeing, wrapping, shopping is over and that life has resumed a quiet lull. If this lull were a color it would be grey. A beautiful color to sit in after the array of neons that proceeded it. It's back to Eric and me and my slippers in the evening. I can dust or read or switch the lamp and the couch around because that's what I feel like doing.<br /><br />It's here that I can feel the heartbeat of life again. I can hear myself think and begin to, gingerly, gather all my thoughts together and craft a direction and dream for myself. I use the word dream lightly. For instance, if I dream about making a hair appointment, I am allowed the freedom to do so. Similarly, when I dream about moving back to the East Coast, I also feel the freedom to begin inching in that direction. The fog of academics and holiday frenzy has finally been lifted and I can put my sails up once again in the life-giving, cool breeze of a hushed mid january.K. A. Ruth Bushawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05657350975019777765noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6582363506557477283.post-48176310332355591532011-12-10T23:07:00.000-08:002011-12-12T12:47:56.054-08:00as a graduate from college i will now....1. sleep well.<br /><br />2. eat well. grocery shop and stuff. and use multiple burners on the stove. and heck, maybe i'll even use the oven too.<br /><br />3. feel a little more optimistic that Eric will break down and allow me to get a dog.<br /><br />4. figure out where the end stopped and where the begining starts. i feel i'm in the middle of two very great things. for now still staring blankly at 'school' as it pulls out of the driveway and disappears down the road. i'm half delirious with happiness and partly feeling like i just lost a big chunk of my reason for existing. (nobody needs me to get make a project and write a paper about it? but why?)<br /><br />5. start thinking about what i really care about. and what exactly i don't care about.<br /><br />6. change my last name to bushaw. i know i keep promising to do this. but i really will. this is getting out of hand. i mean really.<br /><br />7. make like a salmon and go back home.<br /><br />8. finish reading the seven books i'm in the middle of right now. One of which I highly recommend:<span style="font-style: italic;"> Pain: The Gift That Nobody Wants</span> is a book written by Dr. Paul Brand about his work with leprosy patients. The man is my hero. This book is completely buried deep beneath heaps of readings lists, best sellers, classics, etc. I found it sort of by accident and it's proved to be one of the most compelling books I've ever read.<br /><br />9. come up with some sort of quick, painless and vague statement to appease and reassure the masses when they ask "so, what do you plan to do now?"<br /><br />10. be very nice to Eric while he graduates next semester because he was very nice to me while i generally acted like a crazy woman/fussy little baby during finals.K. A. Ruth Bushawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05657350975019777765noreply@blogger.com1