tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80400283464655665532024-03-04T21:50:13.192-08:00EmilyEmily Porterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561758542757493595noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040028346465566553.post-31693977519014715542019-02-11T14:28:00.001-08:002019-02-11T14:35:38.832-08:00The Mourning Dove<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>The Mourning Dove</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Feeding the birds has </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">become my church. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thanksgiving is pine cones</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">covered in sunflower seeds. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Christmas is fresh bags with bows on top</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">and a feeder to keep the squirrels at bay.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The coldest days of the year</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">are peanut butter sandwiches and blueberries. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The warmest are always</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">fresh water in the baths.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So what happens when the stray </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">cats learn my Bible verses?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Another of His creatures whom I love, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">but they are always far too hungry.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We find her nestled in a bed of leaves, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">wing resting at an angle I’ve never seen before. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It takes all day for us to save her, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">taking laps around the yard with a towel and cardboard box. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I drive forty-five minutes to the rescue</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">and she is so quiet I’m not sure she’s still there. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They open the box to remind me she is</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">and tell me to write if I’d like to know how she fares. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A year later we receive a card</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">and know before even opening it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I fill the feeders as an offering in her honor</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">and watch the seed fall to the ground. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Would she have lived if I still worshiped </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">in any way but this? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">- - -</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The injured dove we took to the rescue in Lake Geneva last Spring didn't make it. When I read the card they sent to us my heart broke, but I didn't cry. I felt like I wanted to, but I didn't. I think I was in shock. I think I still am, though rereading that card in the past weeks has allowed me to shed a few tears. I think I am finally accepting what it means.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I reflect on this whole experience, I am shocked as to why the news of her death has moved me so. I found myself blaming my own ritual of feeding the birds for her injuries, for her death. After all, she wouldn't have been hurt if she wasn't sitting on the ground, eating our seed, an easy target. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In writing this poem, I realized that I had passed the denial phase of grief and had entered the phase of pain and guilt. Her time in my life was so short, a brief afternoon come and gone, yet I feel her loss as if she were a dear friend. Isn't life funny that way? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I think too about how easy it would have been to view everything as a waste. A weekend afternoon spent chasing a bird through the yard. Two and a half hours in the car. A donation we left them for her care. How easy it would be to say none of it was worth it. After all, she didn't make it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But the last line of the card we received reminded me why nothing was wasted. After telling us of her passing, it thanked us for caring enough to make sure she was not living in pain or fear. It is this that moves me to tears. For me, knowing her life, though ended, ended with peace and dignity, will always be worth it.</span>Emily Porterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561758542757493595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040028346465566553.post-43959221187217864742018-05-13T16:39:00.002-07:002018-05-13T16:39:41.255-07:00To Be A MotherI am not exactly sure what my earliest memory is, but when I think back on my childhood, every memory that does come to mind involves either my mother, my grandmother, or both. I remember carrying a picture of her around my Preschool classroom because I couldn't bear to be away from her. I remember the most creative birthday parties in our backyard, Girl Scout sleepovers that always got a little rowdy, learning to sew no matter how frustrated got, her patience through all of it. I remember hunting cicada shells under my grandparent's willow tree every summer, picking fruit from the trees in their yard, counting bunches of grapes. I remember tins of Christmas cookies, playing with my mother's old Barbie dolls, and hunting for treasures in the basement.<br />
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I picture my mother putting Karlee to bed in her Play Pen after she had open heart surgery. I picture her spending hours looking up low sugar/low carb recipes when my dad was diagnosed with diabetes. I picture my grandmother by my mother's side when my sisters were born. I picture her by my grandfather's side through his cancer treatments, when he lost his leg, when he moved back home and had to learn to adapt.<br />
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It was from these women that I learned what it means to be a mother. It means being patient, no matter how frustrated you might be yourself. It means letting your children explore every inch of this world, without judgement. It means teaching respect of each other, of the Earth, of the whole world. It means stepping up when someone needs to be taken care of. It means teaching your children to be creative and to use that creativity to create their own fun. It means letting things get a little rowdy sometimes. And it most importantly means love, unconditionally.<br />
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While I am not a mother yet, I look to my mother and grandmother as models of the woman I want to be. When Brandon catches me trying to move furniture myself or saving a dove with a broken wing and he says I am just like them, I always smile and thank God. And if and when I am blessed enough to become a mother, I will remember the way they raised me and pray I can be half the women and mothers they are.<br />
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<br />Emily Porterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561758542757493595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040028346465566553.post-82560085778557853932018-03-19T16:35:00.002-07:002018-03-19T16:35:27.221-07:00Not Yet Ready To Let GoLast Friday I got home from work and as I walked towards the house with two arms full of stuff, I heard a rustling in the leaves that we never got around to cleaning up in the fall, still piled up along the house. I stopped to see what it could be and noticed a dove perched among the mess. As I walked closer to the back door, it jumped out of the leaves and I realized one of its wings was jutting out from its side at an awkward angle. No wonder it was hopping away instead of flying. The wing had to be broken.<br />
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It continued hopping away from me, heading towards the side of the house. I slowly followed it, watching it find another soft, quiet spot in a pile of leaves along our fence. As I stood there contemplating what I could do to help it, our next door neighbor opened their door. He explained that he and his wife had noticed it earlier. "I hate to see animals suffer like that," he said. "That's nature, though. Not much we can do, but let it run its course. I'm sure it won't suffer long." I nodded my head in agreement. <i>I guess he's right</i>, I thought. How quickly I left my own instincts by the wayside.<br />
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In the time we were having our conversation, the dove squeezed its way under our fence and hopped through our yards. The last I saw of it, it was three doors down, making its way to another quiet place. As I made my way back towards our house, I thought, <i>please don't let it suffer long</i>. When Brandon got home, I told him about the dove. Couldn't get it off my mind. <i>But there was nothing I could have done, right?</i><br />
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The next day, we pulled into our driveway after returning from the grocery store and there along the side of the house, sleeping in the sunshine, was the dove. I couldn't believe it. I couldn't help but think there was a reason she was still alive, a reason she ended up, after traveling away from us, back at our house, safe. "We have to do something," I said to Brandon. "She's alive. We have to help."<br />
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So we carried our groceries inside and I called our vet, hoping they would have some advice. The secretary who answered the phone gave me the number of a wildlife veterinarian based in Lake Geneva and wished me luck. I called immediately, left a message, and waited. Within five minutes they had called me back, gave advice on how to catch and transport her, and scheduled an appointment for us to bring her in. "Why don't we say you'll be here in an hour and a half? It will be a bit of a drive for you and that will give you time to catch her." Little did we know, we would need a lot more time than that.<br />
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Brandon and I prepared a small box with a bed of paper towels and plenty of holes for her to breathe. We headed outside decked in gardening gloves and brandishing towels to wrap her safely and transfer her to the box. When we walked outside she was still sitting along the house. Brandon went to one side and I stayed on the other. Since I was more comfortable with picking her up, Brandon's job was to keep her from hopping away.<br />
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As soon as she realized what was happening, she hopped quickly past him and around the front of the house, hopping her way up over our front stoop and into the bushes. Crap! We took turns walking through the bushes trying to get her to come out. Just as she would emerge from one area and we were about to catch her, she would sneak back in another opening. What a sight we must have been and boy did we see what determination looks like. She did not want to be caught.<br />
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We played this game for what felt like hours, but got to the point where we weren't even sure where she was. We couldn't hear her rustling in the leaves anymore. Couldn't see her anywhere. After standing outside for a bit longer hoping she would emerge, we gave up. How defeated I felt, hoping she hadn't hurt herself more attempting to avoid us. I called the wildlife vet and told them we would definitely not be there soon. I opened up the front curtains wide and decided to sit and read in the window, hoping she was still there and would eventually come out.<br />
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About an hour later, I happened to look up from my book and there she was. Her small head peeking out from under the bush, still trying to catch a bit of sunlight. I called Brandon to front room and told him we had to try again. So out we went, gloves, box, and towels in hand. He went into the bushes and I waited for her to come out. She did, but attempted to fly, heading straight towards our street. We both ran and shooed her back into the yard. I hope our neighbors weren't watching because oh how ridiculous we must have looked.<br />
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I tried to cover her with the towel so she couldn't keep trying to fly away, a trick my mom had suggested as I was texting her about our situation. After about five failed attempts, I finally was able to cover her. As carefully as we could, I picked her up and placed her in the box. With a sigh of relief we realized, we had done it!<br />
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I called the vet and left a message saying we were on the way and would hopefully get there before they close. Without hesitation I loaded her in the car and began driving. This place was not close and in the forty-five minute drive, I found myself listening for any sign of movement. How sad it would be after all of that, if she died in the car on the way to be saved. When I finally turned into the gravel driveway of the wildlife veterinarian, I breathed one sigh of relief. Now to see if she was still alive and would be able to survive.<br />
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I took the small cardboard box, which felt like nothing was even in it, up the dirt path to a small grey building and entered. No one was in the office so we waited and after a few minutes someone came out. "You're here with the dove?" she asked. She took the box from me, had me fill out a form, and told me they would see what they could do. I waited. In the time I waited, another woman came in to get a box for a family of squirrels that had made their nest in her garage. "Some people say just kill them," she said. "If I don't have to, I won't."<br />
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When the woman who took the dove emerged, she said the wing was broken and based on the other injuries they believed she had been attacked by a cat, but they believed she would recover. Their goal was for full recovery and for her to fly again, but if she couldn't she would have a forever home there. The final sigh of relief. She had made it there alive and had a chance of survival and safety. They printed off a picture of her for me to take home and told me to send a letter in a few weeks if I wanted an update.<br />
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I learned a few things from this experience. First, I have an amazing husband who puts up with my shenanigans and is willing to put on a pair of gardening gloves and walk through our bushes to try and save a dove. I wouldn't have been able to catch her myself. Thank God I have a partner to help me through life's two-person jobs!<br />
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Second, I was amazed at how quickly my initial instinct to try and help her had been curbed by my neighbor's comments. How could I have just left her to die when I wanted so badly to help her? It made me think about human nature and how quickly we change ourselves based on other people's input. It made me think about where else in my life I had changed my true instincts because of other people. How have others changed because of me?<br />
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Finally, it is easy to brush doing the right thing off, especially when it is hard and takes effort, and say "That's just how things are," but we can do more for others than we realize. Sure, it was a bit hectic. Was it how I thought I would spend a Saturday? No. But we saved a life that wasn't ready to give up yet. I hope she recovers. I hope learns to fly again<br />
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<a href="http://fellowmortals.org/">Fellow Mortals Wildlife Hospital</a></div>
Emily Porterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561758542757493595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040028346465566553.post-88627326162704882322017-12-31T13:19:00.000-08:002017-12-31T13:19:33.676-08:00Homemade Butterfly Stitches<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Homemade Butterfly Stitches</b></div>
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With the family gathered</div>
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around the kitchen table</div>
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at Christmas time,</div>
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my grandfather tells us the tale</div>
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of his bandaged hand.</div>
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A slip of a pocket knife</div>
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while opening the mail.</div>
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<i>Thank goodness Grandma</i></div>
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<i>wasn’t home.</i></div>
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Went clear through.</div>
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<i>Thank goodness I keep</i></div>
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<i>a stack of these handkerchiefs</i></div>
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<i>next to me.</i></div>
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His only complaint,</div>
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that the wound</div>
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makes pushing himself around</div>
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in his wheelchair painful.</div>
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And just as he has,</div>
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the story moves on</div>
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to something else.</div>
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A fox in the backyard,</div>
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Laying out seed for the birds.</div>
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Another snowfall.</div>
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<i>You mean you didn’t</i></div>
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<i>go get it looked at?</i></div>
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<i>No stitches?</i></div>
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He laughs.</div>
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<i>Around here</i></div>
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<i>we take care of things ourselves.</i></div>
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He is held together</div>
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with homemade butterfly stitches</div>
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and gauze.</div>
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A trick he learned in the army.</div>
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Around here</div>
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there is no time to waste</div>
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on waiting.</div>
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<i>If you can get it done yourself,</i></div>
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<i>why wouldn’t you?</i></div>
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And this is the same speech</div>
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my mother gave</div>
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when she cut the tip of her finger</div>
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off with a knife,</div>
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stuck it back on,</div>
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wrapped it in a bandage</div>
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and continued making dinner.</div>
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Around here</div>
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we hold ourselves together</div>
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with homemade butterfly stitches</div>
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and continue reading the mail,</div>
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making the family dinner,</div>
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because life is too short</div>
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to waste on fuss and drama.</div>
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Around here</div>
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we take care of ourselves</div>
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and move on.</div>
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What is life without</div>
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a few battle scars?</div>
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What is life if not</div>
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a constant stitching up</div>
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and moving on?</div>
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Happy New Year, all! </div>
Emily Porterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561758542757493595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040028346465566553.post-65058946610197954382017-09-08T14:30:00.001-07:002017-09-08T14:35:17.643-07:00First Pumpkins, Now Sunflowers?!<div style="text-align: center;">
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First surprise pumpkins and now surprise sunflowers?! It's as if the universe knows how much I love fall (and sunflowers)! Amazing! I almost pulled these out thinking they were weeds. Another reminder that sometimes we need to let things grow to see how beautiful their potential. </div>
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Happy Friday and Happy (early) Fall!<br />
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<img src="webkit-fake-url://fe9ab377-2067-408f-8a43-d9f743d1e90d/imagejpeg" />The only flowers I intentionally planted were the red ones,<br />
not the pink or sunflowers. </div>
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Grateful for however they ended up here, though!</div>
Emily Porterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561758542757493595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040028346465566553.post-89471771065161374122017-08-25T14:45:00.003-07:002017-08-25T14:45:26.884-07:00A Small, Surprise PumpkinOne of my home projects this year was to clean up the landscaping around our house. The front was overgrown and needed to be trimmed back, so I spent countless hours clearing out dead brush, thinning out the already growing plants, adding fresh new colors, and laying down mulch. It was weed free, clean, bright, and beautiful, exactly what I had imagined.<br />
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This work was completed within the first few weeks of summer vacation. Now, we are beginning another school year and the other day, as I went out front to get the mail, I noticed something growing up through my hard work. At first glance, it looked like a weed, a vine-like plant growing out from between a patch of pink cone flowers. On closer observation, I realized it was a pumpkin plant, already blooming bright yellow flowers, one of which had grown into the smallest pumpkin I've ever seen, and slowly creeping its way into my grass.<br />
<br />
I stood there for a good ten minutes, baffled at how a pumpkin plant could be growing there. My initial thought was the local squirrels. Then, I remembered. Last fall I had decorated the house for Halloween with pumpkins. This plant must have grown from the seeds that were left over after the pumpkins had done their part in the festivities and had started to rot.<br />
<br />
I could have easily gotten mad or frustrarted. So much hard work to make the house look neat and organized and this pumpkin plant was not part of the plan. It would make cutting the grass more inconvenient. It didn't necessarily match the look of plant I was going for. I didn't know if it would affect the other flowers. I didn't get mad, though. After I stopped standing there, dumbfounded at how it got there, I smiled.<br />
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This little pumpkin was my own unintentional fault. It was something I had let happen by accident, never thinking for a second that my Halloween decorations from the fall before would have left seeds that would invade the vision of my summer project. It was almost as if it had grown, not my accident, but intentionally. A small lesson to be learned as the new school year begins.<br />
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What is the lesson to be learned from this small, surprise pumpkin? Sometimes, we take so much time to pull weeds, till the soil, plan, and plant, but things don't end up as we imagined they might. Most often, they don't. The weeds grow back, the flowers don't bloom, or we end up with a surprise pumpkin growing in our garden. It is up to us to love the result and appreciate the surprises that might find their way into our gardens, seemingly by accident, but most likely, by some unintentional design.<br />
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Can you spot the small, surprise pumpkin? </div>
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Can't wait to see how many we get! </div>
Emily Porterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561758542757493595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040028346465566553.post-85054566716020186892017-05-02T16:22:00.004-07:002017-05-02T16:22:45.975-07:00A Damn PoemEvery year, writers from around the world attempt to complete the 30/30 challenge during the month of April, which is National Poetry Month. This means they attempt to write 30 poems in 30 days. They don't have to be complete poems. Most poets joke that May is "National Editing Month" because usually you only end up with a few poems that you would consider up to your own standards.<br />
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I have completed this challenge quite a few times, most of them relatively successful. This, however, was when I was reading poetry at events regularly. I could crank out a poem a day easily and while they weren't all masterpieces, I always ended with at least 5 or so that I felt confident sharing with others. So naturally, I decided that this year, in the midst of working full time and finishing my Masters, I would try the 30/30 challenge again. To sum up how things went, here is one of the poems I wrote:<br />
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<b>A Damn Poem </b></div>
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I can't even find five</div>
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minutes to write a damn word</div>
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let alone a poem. </div>
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And after this poem, which was written on April 11th, I only attempted to write one more. Based on the above poem, you can probably guess that this was not my year to complete the 30/30 challenge successfully. In fact, I'm not even sure I got 5 or so quality poems out of it.<br />
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While reflecting on my failure at the 30/30 challenge, I realized that poetry is not the only thing I feel disconnected to this time of year. The end of the school year tends to cause everything else to fall by the wayside. I feel over joyed when I have time to work in my yard, spend time with my cats and my husband, even read a book, things that weekends are for, but the extra time seems to be so hard to come by.<br />
<br />
I recently agreed to participate in a teacher book club at my school. When I found the book sitting on my desk, I wanted to tuck it into my desk drawer and forget about it. That sounds horrible because I know it will make me a better teacher, but if I can't find the time to read for fun, how will I ever find time to read for work? It's just another thing to add to the list.<br />
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Hell, I couldn't even take 5 minutes to write more angsty haikus to complete my 30/30 challenge. And maybe that is the downside of being an adult. There are always a million things to do and something like poetry never falls at the top of this list. It's too bad because when I wrote the first 10 poems, I felt amazing! 10 minutes to write about something that matters to me was a great stress reliever just as yard work, kitty cuddles, and reading can do.<br />
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But how can we find time for ourselves in the hectic day to day tasks? How can we find time to write about what's going on, read to become a better person, and do things that help us to relax? Maybe there isn't a solution, but my goal from now to the end of the school year is to try and write some damn poems, finish my book club book, and get some cuddles in because I know there's time, I just have to find it.Emily Porterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561758542757493595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040028346465566553.post-33132843165939867032017-03-01T16:15:00.000-08:002017-03-01T16:15:04.282-08:00I Ate Meat TodayI have a confession to make. I ate meat today. I skipped mass, didn't walk around with ashes proudly displayed on my forehead. I have not thought about what to give up for Lent because I didn't even realize it was even coming. I debated leaving my Easter wreath in the basement and putting up one with just generic spring flowers.<br />
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As a dutiful Catholic school girl, I would have felt ashamed for even thinking these things. It was cool to walk around with a big cross made out of ashes on your forehead and if a little got on your nose or white uniform shirt, it was even better. If you ate something you had given up for Lent, even by accident you felt guilty until you told someone and still felt guilty even after you did.<br />
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And every year there was a St. Joseph's table at school filled with hundreds of baked goods to choose from. And every year my classmate had her birthday party at a chocolate shop and there was always at least one of us who ended up taking theirs home to freeze for Easter. And every year at least one of us would slip up on our Lenten promise and though someone always reassured us that God would forgive you if it really was an honest mistake, we still felt like we had failed him.<br />
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Growing up, being Catholic was who I was. Lent was a time for me to grow closer to God, to ask for forgiveness, to feel close to him by promising to give something up for 40 days as he fasted for 40 days in the desert. I would go to church and feel rejuvenated. I was surrounded by people who thought and felt the same way. I was comfortable in my faith.<br />
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Nowadays, my faith makes me uncomfortable. I was taught that questioning our faith, though natural as humans, would lead us away from God and that we should always believe and accept things without asking too many questions. I think this is where my struggles have lied. I am human. I have lots of questions. I don't believe everything the church teaches. Some days, it is hard to even pinpoint what I believe.<br />
<br />
Yet still, on Ash Wednesday, when I find myself with no ashes on my forehead, planning on eating meat for dinner, skipping mass, and choosing to leave my Easter wreath behind, I find myself longing for the comfort of these traditions, of the faith that I grew up in.<br />
<br />
Today, when my student walked into school today and another asked her "What's wrong with your forehead?" and she proudly replied, "I am Catholic and today is ash Wednesday!" I felt the urge to go to church. When my student was eating a cheese sandwich and someone asked her, "Just cheese?" and she replied "I am not supposed to eat meat today" I wanted to change my dinner plans. I was jealous of her faith and the pride she had in it.<br />
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Perhaps this is all just part of growing up. Through life experience we learn to never take anything we are told at face value. We learn to ask questions. I am grateful that I have learned to not walk through life stating my faith blindly, relying on what others tell me to be right as truth. I am grateful that I do not feel guilty for slipping up, for being human. I am grateful for this journey of faith I am on, however winding and cracked it may feel. I just find myself missing my roots some days. Today is one of those days.Emily Porterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561758542757493595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040028346465566553.post-38822394659734484712017-01-02T13:26:00.003-08:002017-01-02T13:26:52.211-08:00Until You Know BetterI want to write more again and so I found myself sifting through the many notes I have in my iPhone of ideas for poems. I have many random thoughts on my long drives home and so many of the lines are written through my Bluetooth using my not-so-good-friend, Siri. If you have ever tried to do this while driving and being unable to edit, I am sure you can imagine how hard they can be to decipher. Fortunately, I have many that are not gibberish and today, I came across two lines that struck me. Here they are:<br />
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A bottle of red is just a bottle of red until you know better<br />
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And a word is just a word until you know better.<br />
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I don't remember where I was when I wrote this. The date of last edit on that note is 10/6/2016 and I don't remember what happened that day that made me write this. It is funny how things we think, randomly on a drive home or in a grocery store or laying on the couch, can ring true months later.<br />
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Before I knew my love for red wine, it was just something my mother ordered when we were out to dinner or something grown ups gave to each other as gifts. In college, it was too bitter to drink. I stuck with sweet wines that make me cringe now. It wasn't until after I graduated college that I truly appreciated a glass of red and how well it pairs with steak or chocolate or cheesecake or the end of a long day. Something about growing older makes us appreciate bitter things. Dark wines. Black coffee. Fear. Grief.<br />
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Before I knew my love for words, they were just something I used to relay my needs. When I began writing at a very young age, I was fascinated by language and its sounds. But as beautiful as some words can be, they can also be violent. There are so many words I never knew the power of until they were used against me or someone I love. There are so many more that I still don't and hope I never will. But I know that words have bite now. Something about growing older makes us more cautious of the things we say. Chalk this up to experience or fear of offense or personal discipline.<br />
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I guess these two lines were meant to say, as we get older, we learn to know better. I have learned that a bottle of red can cure headaches, but can also cause them. I have learned that words can bring us closer or tear us apart. These are the only two examples I wrote down of things that can be both a blessing and a curse, but I bet I could write a whole poem listing hundreds. I bet you could write your own list, too.Emily Porterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561758542757493595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040028346465566553.post-13037116951482525072017-01-01T08:19:00.001-08:002017-01-01T08:19:05.184-08:00Spending 2017 Sitting in LotusGood morning everyone and welcome to the year 2017. Last night, as Brandon and I continued our tradition of ringing in the new year in our pajamas, drinking champagne, and relaxing together, I asked him what his hope was for the new year. I won't share what he told me, but I will share what I said.<br />
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While tradition urges us to come up with a resolution, something we want to change or improve in the coming year, I am hoping for consistency, some calm, a chance to settle into life more. Here is what I mean...<br />
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I want to continue to gain confidence and knowledge in the job I have, the job I love, so I can become the best at what I do. I want to continue making connections with my colleagues, students and their families to positively impact their lives.<br />
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I want to continue seeking out a community in this new state we live in. It has been difficult at times being away from family and friends for obvious reasons. There are times where I feel lonely, but I am making progress towards finding community here. My hope is that I can continue to do so.<br />
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I want to continue exploring my faith and beliefs, to continue the search for my own personal truth, to question, to listen, to discuss.<br />
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I want to continue to read and to read all kinds of books. I read 50 books in the year 2016 and that is my goal again for the year 2017. It gave me a chance to learn about different people, religions, cultures, and to grow my own knowledge of the world around me.<br />
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I want to continue to exercise, to write, to have meaningful conversations with my husband, to spend time with family and friends no matter how far, to take advantage of opportunities to do fun things, but also to spend time relaxing at home.<br />
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In reflecting on this past year and the new year of 2017, I am reminded of a quote from Andrea Gibson, one of my favorite poets, from her poem "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U-2z4lMT4-g">Pole Dancer</a>" that goes:<br />
<br />
"cause anyone who has ever sat in lotus for more than a few seconds<br />
knows that it takes a hell of a lot more muscle to stay than to go."<br />
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The year 2016 was another year of moving and rebuilding and while the past few years have been exciting in a variety of ways, I am realizing I am ready for some calm. I want 2017 to be more steady, more peaceful.<br />
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So here is to spending 2017 sitting in lotus for more than a few seconds.<br />
Here is to finding comfort in routines and the place I live in.<br />
Here is to being still in the life I have here, now.Emily Porterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561758542757493595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040028346465566553.post-82099973597826554982016-11-11T09:25:00.001-08:002016-11-11T09:25:39.780-08:00Be Each Other's LightWhen members of my family turned on us, it was a quick and easy decision to remove them from my life. It seemed the only practical thing to do. Why go to family parties, sit in the corner, and fear an outburst of hate? Why bring someone I love onto an unfairly weighted battlefield? Why bring our future children into a family that would make them feel bad about themselves solely based on their mixed race? Why live in fear of hate?<br />
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Upon hearing the verdict, and I say verdict because it feels to me like a guilty man has just been released, I found myself shaking. My first thought was shock. I had believed, that the outrageous, hateful rhetoric that was shared by our now presidential elect would be enough for America to stop him in his tracks. My second was to reach for optimism, to say there is a light at the end the tunnel always, right? But I found myself asking, what if the sun has set and there is no more light?<br />
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I have struggled a lot with this election. I have spent the last week constantly near tears. It feels like the air around me has changed. I can't really explain it, but last night, when Brandon texted me from work to say there were protesters outside and police in full equipment blocking off streets, that he had walked through this to get inside, it hit me. The hate, from both sides, is way too close to home.<br />
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The last time I felt this way, all I had to do was change my email address, stop going to family parties, and spend more time with people who lifted me up than those who were bringing me down. Now, I cannot just change my email address. I cannot just stop going to events. But I can do the latter. I can surround myself with people who lift me up, who love no matter what. And I can lift others up and love them.<br />
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There are a lot of scary things happening in this country. Both sides are turning on each other. People are angry. People are afraid. While this week has felt like walking through a tunnel where the sun is setting and the light is slowly dimming, there is something I was reminded of.<br />
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There will always be hate. There was before and there will be tomorrow. It may be from our families, strangers, neighbors, political figures from around the world and while I admire optimism, it is a fact that we will never truly be at peace. People are different and that is what makes us human and powerful and strong. It is this realization that must be embraced.<br />
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We must live together despite our fears and beliefs. We must not let one man define how we interact with each other. We cannot give one human being that kind of power over us. So whatever your political affiliation, whoever you voted for, whatever your fears, we must be each other's light at the end of this tunnel. It is the only way we will get out.Emily Porterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561758542757493595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040028346465566553.post-81659644022272920012016-10-12T16:01:00.002-07:002016-10-12T16:01:42.241-07:00Wear Your Power Pants ProudThese are my "Power Pants" so named by my best friend and routine shopping companion.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjulTbhFrvhPRp1_aa5sp7U6zS7qh8S2aFjtoQXzNhXgehXfEjomU8KhPCDYn-cS6zcwp0uYUuTjGWCo0zoeanmsSIJH5XGPS7UhlxlaxLUMLPht6g06iZbM6Lq1btCCtw5E1aRhPrt2phy/s1600/IMG_0718+%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjulTbhFrvhPRp1_aa5sp7U6zS7qh8S2aFjtoQXzNhXgehXfEjomU8KhPCDYn-cS6zcwp0uYUuTjGWCo0zoeanmsSIJH5XGPS7UhlxlaxLUMLPht6g06iZbM6Lq1btCCtw5E1aRhPrt2phy/s320/IMG_0718+%25281%2529.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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What are "Power Pants" you ask? They can be anything that makes you feel powerful the second you put them on. They could be a pair of athletic pants, your favorite pair of jeans, or something like these, pants that make me feel like I am on my way to change the world. They don't even have to be pants, though. Maybe it's a shirt you got from a race you finished, a pair of comfortable socks, or a rockin' pair of shoes.<br />
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I have met many people who say that what you wear doesn't matter, but I am a firm believer in fashion. No, not the type of fashion you wear to impress other people or show off your wealth. I am talking about outfits that make you feel fabulous, clothes that you wear with confidence because that is the way we change the world, being confident in ourselves, our abilities, our beliefs.<br />
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I wrote once before about getting rid of clothes that don't make you feel fabulous. Since that post, I have not bought anything that doesn't. Why waste your money on clothes that make you feel mediocre when you could be stocking up on "Power Pants?" Heck, these were only $12.00 so it just goes to show that you don't even have to break the bank! You just need to find things that remind you how beautiful, fashionable, and powerful you can be.<br />
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The other day, I was at the YMCA, talking to a girl in the hot tub who shared way too much of her story with me, a stranger she had just met in a hot tub. I could tell though they were things that were weighing on her, that they were things she just needed to get off her chest. When she got out and went to go change, the first thing she did was weigh herself. I thought about my "Power Pants." I thought about the fact that I don't even know what size they are, that this never even crossed my mind because of the way they made me feel. It made me forget to check the size.<br />
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Hell, I know that on any given day I could weigh more or less than the day before. I know that I weigh more and wear different sizes than I did when I was sixteen because that's normal. I know that sometimes, my pants size is not going to be consistent because brands are different. I also know that I work out at least a few days during the week, eat as healthy as I can without sacrificing things I love, and according to my yearly check-up am considered healthy. For me, feeling healthy and happy has always been what matters most.<br />
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But so many are obsessed with numbers on a scale or clothing labels. So many wear things that make them feel like less than their potential. Hell, at points in my life, I have too. Maybe it is because we are scared. It is hard to stand out and that's exactly what "Power Pants" make us do. This is how we change the world, though. We embrace ourselves for who we are on any given day, wear and do the things that make us feel the best, and forget about the numbers. It is this that people will notice. It is this that will help us be as powerful as we can be. It is this that will change the world.Emily Porterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561758542757493595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040028346465566553.post-9670421476051069772016-10-03T14:09:00.002-07:002016-10-03T14:10:11.114-07:00Reminders from Paradise I am lucky enough to work in a school district that has the means to send us to conferences, especially out of state conferences. This week, I was in San Diego for a School Mental Health conference that I not only was able to attend, but also was honored to presenter at with other members of my team. That in itself has been an amazing opportunity!<br />
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Our conference presentation/adventurous group</div>
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I am also lucky enough to work with people who are adventurous, energetic, and flat out fun. We had so many adventures and laughs and got to know each other in an entirely different way. I am currently sitting on my balcony, listening to the Star Spangled Banner coming across the Harbor from the Naval Base, and reflecting on all the things San Diego has reminded me of.<br />
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<i>On Wednesday</i> I was reminded, while two of my coworkers and I sat on the four hour flight and literally talked the entire time so my one coworker wouldn't be so nervous flying, how important it is to take out your headphones, put away your phone, computer, book, whatever it is and take the time to talk. The flight flew by, my coworker wasn't AS nervous, and it made something that could have felt unbearable (I know four hours isn't much, but it can feel like a lifetime), enjoyable.<br />
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<i>On Thursday</i> I was reminded, while going on an impromptu kayaking tour with two of my coworkers and three random locals who agreed to take us out (they were affiliated with a kayak shop... don't worry!) and show us some of the wonders that sit right in their neighborhood, how important it is to go out of your comfort zone and take time to do new things. We saw sea lions just feet from us, a sunset over the bay, a college rowing team practicing, and hundreds of gorgeous boats. I almost didn't go, but as I was sitting in the kayak with these people, watching the sunset through palm trees, I realized how important it is to embrace adventure.<br />
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<i>On Thursday</i> I was also reminded, while riding in an inflatable dingy, in the middle of the night, across the same harbor, because the locals had offered to give us a ride to where we were meeting the others in our group and we thought it would be more fun than an Uber, that life is about embracing every moment to the fullest and not settling for the easy way. Sure, we could have taken an Uber. It probably would have been safer and quicker, but flying through the water on this little dingy, laughing about how ridiculous it was, and seeing the Harbor from a different perspective made me happy we didn't take the easy way.<br />
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Our "head honcho" and I riding across the harbor in the "dingy"</div>
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<i>On Friday</i> I was reminded, while we were standing on the beach on Coronado Island with Tijuana Mexico to our left, the Harbor we were staying at on the right, the Hotel del Coronado behind us, and of course our toes in the sand, how important it is to take off your shoes every once and a while and put your toes in the sand. What I mean is, so often in life we walk around busy and distracted from the world around us. It is important to take off our shoes if you will, stand on the beach, and really take a look around you to realize there is so much wonder to the world we live in.<br />
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A panoramic view from the beach including Tijuana Mexico, the Hotel del Coronado, and the sunsetting over the ocean </div>
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<i>On Saturday</i> I was reminded once again, while walking through the San Diego zoo with our group, the importance of being in the moment, being adventurous, not taking the easy way (they have buses that literally take you up and down hills if you don't want to/can't walk them), and looking at our world with wonder. It was the perfect culmination to our trip. There was so much to see we didn't get to see everything, but that was okay. And that was another good reminder. Life isn't about seeing all there is to see. It is about embracing every moment for what it is and finding the good in everything you do.<br />
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A flower in the San Diego Zoo</div>
Emily Porterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561758542757493595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040028346465566553.post-57364691487368984392016-09-23T16:45:00.001-07:002016-09-23T16:45:43.824-07:00"That Guy" In Friday TrafficThere is always "that guy" in Friday traffic. The one who speeds up, rides people's butts, just to change lanes and sit in the same position they were in before. The three second spacing rule goes out the window and all others on the road must bow down to them. Heck, sometimes they even ride on the shoulder just to bypass what everyone else is dealing with.<div>
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Maybe sometimes, we are "that guy" or wish we could be. Today, I found myself sitting in Friday traffic, not even to the highway yet and I watched one of those guys squeezing his way between cars with inches to spare only to change lanes again seconds later. I began to think about our unhealthy obsession with getting places quickly.</div>
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I'm not denying the fact that I was feeling anxious about the snail's pace it felt like I was going, but to me, it always seems more important to get home safely than it is to get there quickly. Don't get me wrong, I love to get home early so I have more time to get things done or relax. What gets me through that Friday traffic, though, is keeping in mind what really matters, getting home safe. </div>
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I also thought about the parallels to these situations in the rest of my life, times that I catch myself being "that guy." Standing in line at the grocery store, or the library, or the movies. The times when I have gotten annoyed at having to wait, to go at a slower pace. I think that there is something innate in us to feel this way.</div>
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But what are we missing out on as we worry about our lateness? What risks are we willing to take to get someplace on time or early? What danger do we put other people in because we are impatient? What cost does our need for speed have on ourselves and other people? </div>
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The answer to those questions cannot be positive. More good cannot come from rushing to get places than it does to take our time, be safe, and enjoy the ride. So I am going to try not to be "that guy" in Friday traffic or in the rest of my life. I am going to try and take my time, get home safe, and remember that that is what really matters. </div>
Emily Porterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561758542757493595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040028346465566553.post-87451910135235973072016-09-18T12:46:00.002-07:002016-09-18T12:46:32.526-07:00The Age of Losing FriendsWe all have that friend or friends who never seem to be available. You invite them to all functions you plan and they always have something else to do, but for some reason you always find yourself inviting them anyway. We all also have those friends that take it one step further, either pretending they don't see the invites or just flat out ignoring you. As time goes on, eventually you just stop reaching out at all and they fall off your list of friends.<br />
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About a year ago, one of my best friends from high school moved literally down the street with his fiance. We talked about how great that would be and how much more we would see each other. At first, we did, but that quickly changed. After a few get togethers, attending one of their wedding showers, and eventually the wedding, we lost touch.<br />
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It wasn't for a lack of trying on our part either. Messages would be sent, clearly read (Facebook messenger shows when messages are opened...) and were flat out ignored. Texts were left unanswered, phone calls never returned. It appeared blatant. I mean, most everyone knows you can see when someone reads your message. Were they trying to make a statement? It left Brandon and I and other friends who had reached out collectively wondering what we had done wrong.<br />
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I wracked my brain and combed through our last few interactions to see if I could figure out what had gone wrong. Was it something we said or did? Did we offend them somehow without realizing it? Did something happen that we were totally blind to? I had a lot of theories, but just couldn't be sure. All the more confusing, my friend drove by us while we were walking one day, stopped to talk, and acted like NOTHING was wrong. Of course he suggested a get together and nothing ever came of it.<br />
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I still don't know the exact reason they pulled away from our friendship, but I have been thinking about this a lot lately. It seems that within the last few years, this has happened with many people I considered friends. Just last week I texted a friend to get dinner, she didn't acknowledge the dinner invite, asked me a question, and never responded to me after I answered. Then there are those who respond, but two weeks later. I find myself asking <i>WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON?! IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH ME?!</i><br />
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It was late last week that one of the morning radio shows I listen to was talking about just this. According to a recent study by Aalto University in Finland and the University of Oxford in England, when people reach their mid-twenties they begin to lose social contacts at a rapid rate. PHEW! At least I know I'm not alone, but it still didn't make me feel much better. If the decline has already started to happen, what does that mean for my circle of friends in 5 years or 10 or 20?<br />
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Apparently, the study blames the fact that people's focus tends to shift around this time in life. They start to weigh out what they want and who provides that for them. According to the findings, women especially tend to focus on "best" friendships as a way to create a tight inner circle, specifically for when they begin to have children. So basically, what the study is saying is the people who aren't answering or are not putting in the effort don't see me as a part of their inner circle.<br />
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Cool. Cool. I get it. While my initial reaction is to be offended, it got me thinking. I have started to frame things much the same way. You people don't want to respond to me? That's okay, I have people who do respond, enjoy spending time with me, and care when things are going well and maybe are not going so well. Is it worth putting the effort in for those that don't? No! And that's okay.<br />
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I wrote a post a month or so ago after our housewarming party. We invited over 40 people and in the end only about 10 showed up. When we looked around the room we realized it was a majority of our bridal party and family. Those are the people who have stood by us before and are still standing by us now. That's not to say that there aren't others who I will still try and reach out to.<br />
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I am realizing that we are going through the "Age of Losing Friends," but I am choosing to look at it in a positive light. According to the numbers we may be losing friends, but we are also creating a tight inner circle that will be with us through all the joys and troubles we might face. At this point in life, it's not worth chasing someone who doesn't consider you part of their own circle, so here's to those who do! Thank you for being part of my entourage!<br />
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<a href="http://www.cnn.com/2016/06/06/health/losing-friends-mid-twenties/">http://www.cnn.com/2016/06/06/health/losing-friends-mid-twenties/</a></div>
Emily Porterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561758542757493595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040028346465566553.post-86984584580730313842016-09-15T18:04:00.000-07:002016-09-15T18:05:04.241-07:00Your Full Name and A City To Go With ItIt's almost official! In May of 2017, I will be done with my first Master's Degree. It still doesn't seem all that close, but last week I got a form to fill out asking for information to be included in the graduation program. While most of the information was easy to come up with, one question caused me to pause.<br />
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The form wanted me to fill out my full name and a city I wanted listed next to it. My first thought was to put Kenosha, since that is where we are living now. I began to think, however, about what place I most associate with myself and I realized how many I have to choose from.<br />
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This left me all the more confused. See, I grew up in Palatine, went to a Catholic grade school and then a public high school there. But I also worked at a special recreation association in Rolling Meadows, went to college in Elmhurst and was a student worker in a variety of offices, got my first job in an elementary school in Vernon Hills, and now I work for a high school district in Glenview and live in Kenosha. This led me to another realization.<br />
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We are not only associated with places, but businesses, schools, religions, jobs... My best friend and I were discussing life, as we often do, and she shared how hard it has been for her and her husband since he left the Marines. "My identity for the last four years has been a military spouse," she said. "Now, it is hard to come up with an identity."<br />
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Since moving to a new state where I don't know anyone, I have been struggling a bit with my own identity. Sure, I have things that I identify myself as: teacher, sister, daughter, wife, poet, pet parent, and the list goes on. I am realizing that everyone has so many different things they use to identify themselves. So what city most defines me now that I am not living in the place I did for the majority of my first 23 years?<br />
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How can we ever state one city, business, school, or even sometimes religion that defines us? We are who we are because of all of these things. For now, Kenosha is home, but who knows where I will end up living next? For now, Olivet Nazarene is my school, but who knows where I will end up studying next? For now, I work in Glenview as a transition teacher, but who knows where I will end up working next?<br />
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While it might not seem very concrete, I am relieved with this revelation. I am not defined by where I am living (though I am loving living in Kenosha). I am defined by all the places I have lived or visited and the experiences I have had. I still don't know what city I will list in the graduation program next to my name, but I have found comfort in reflecting on all the places I have been and all the places I have yet to go. Emily Porterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561758542757493595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040028346465566553.post-27518315913217621702016-09-09T16:14:00.001-07:002016-09-09T16:14:25.968-07:00Uncensored Rap, Heavy Metal, and ShowtunesI am going to be honest. Lately, I have been exhausted! I find myself going to bed earlier and earlier and if I don't, I can't help but nod off on the couch. My alarm goes off in the morning and it is like waking the dead. I have been doing my morning yoga with my eyes still closed and if I go to the gym after work, I feel like I am a zombie, going through the motions.<br />
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It is slightly unnerving. Maybe it is because I slept in all summer and now am up at 5:00 a.m. every day. Maybe it is the fact that I am back to work. Maybe it is the extra time and mileage to my commute. Maybe it is my students. Maybe it is the fact that it is my second year on the job (I thought I would have a better handle on things, but I am finding that I have so much more to figure out). Maybe it is our new home, new city, new routines.<br />
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While I was driving home from work yesterday at 9:00 p.m., after our back to school parent night, I did a little reflecting. After all the parents had left, my coworker and mentor had expressed how exhausted she felt and it was then that I realized just how much that rang true. Staying at work so late and being "on" for two hours answering parents' questions was exhausting.<br />
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I began to question, though, why I felt like this every day for the past few weeks. While listening to my loud mix of uncensored rap, heavy metal and showtunes, I realized that I hadn't done that in a while. Listening to this weird mix of music after a long day at work used to be comforting. Lately, though, I have found myself listening to whatever is on, zoning out on the drive home.<br />
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I also began to think about the other things I have stopped doing regularly. Things like writing, grocery shopping once a week instead of anytime we need something, meal planning, going for nightly walks with my husband, and the list goes on. I began to realize that somewhere along the line, I have lost my balance. I have put all my effort into being "on" at work and zone out during the rest of my life.<br />
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Last year and in the year prior, I tried consciously to create a strong work/personal life balance and this year I feel like I have lost that. I come home after rushing around to get things into order for my students and staff and worry about what I might have forgotten to do. My students and ways to improve the way I am teaching is constantly on my mind. The bad thing about that is I have stopped doing the things that comfort me. I have stopped being present in things that are not work related. I am just going through the motions of the day when I am home.<br />
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The thing that strikes me is how easily this happened, how quickly I slipped into this school year trance. I am thankful, though, for the moment I realized it. I am grateful for a weekend to relax and for time to be present in things that are separate from my job, but still bring me joy. I am grateful for my new "long day playlist" to drive home to and candles and books and tea and all the things I find comfort in. I need to remember to stay balanced and present always.Emily Porterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561758542757493595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040028346465566553.post-90001208073915783292016-08-24T17:12:00.002-07:002016-08-24T17:12:58.665-07:0015 Signs It's the First Week of School (For My Fellow Teachers)Being a teacher is a rewarding job. There are so many joys we celebrate with our students, but sadly... the beginning of the year always seems to be an exciting, but chaotic whirlwind. While driving home today, I started to think about all the ways you know, as a teacher, that it is the first week of school. While my job is a little different than a traditional classroom teacher's I think you (my fellow teachers) can all relate to a few, if not all of these:<br />
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1. Your commute to school started out feeling unbelievably quick, but slowly seems to gain 10 minutes each day as the week goes on.<br />
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2. You have heard EVERYONE'S answers to "What did you do this summer?" at least 10 times.<br />
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3. You have already realized the plans you came up with this summer might not work.<br />
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4. You can't remember what, if anything, you ate for lunch yesterday.<br />
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5. By the end of the day it feels like you spent more time on the phone or answering emails from parents than you did working with your students.<br />
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6. You end up leaving to go home at least a half hour to forty-five minutes after you planned.<br />
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7. Your commute home started out feeling unbelievably quick, but slowly seems to gain 10 minutes each day as the week goes on.<br />
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8. On the drive home, Drake's "Hold On, We're Going Home" comes on and the irony makes you smile (or cry depending on how your week is going).<br />
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9. You get home, look in the mirror, and find that your hair looks like you walked through a tornado.<br />
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10. It takes everything in you to stay up watching TV, doing homework, or reading...<br />
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11. ...so your bedtime has gone from 10:30 p.m. to 9:30 p.m. and as the week goes on it gets earlier.<br />
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12. Your alarm clock scares the living daylights out of you because you were so sound asleep and dreaming of... school.<br />
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13. The effort you put into your morning routine changes into just... COFFEE<br />
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14. When people ask how your first week is going, the only word you can come up with is "exhausting"<br />
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15. Even though you're exhausted, this poem (and that cup of COFFEE) gets you pumped up to do it all over again!<br />
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STRIVE!</div>
<br />Emily Porterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561758542757493595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040028346465566553.post-30568882687344679462016-07-26T14:10:00.001-07:002016-07-26T14:10:10.563-07:00Better With The Lights OutThis past weekend I had it all planned out. We had invited various friends and family members to come see our new house since we are finally, pretty much settled in.<br />
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It was going to be sunny, but not too hot and not because that was the forecast, but because I would will it to be so. We were going to have a taco bar and a bonfire with s'mores. We had bought brand new sets of games for the yard and coolers to keep all the drinks cold. I had made the perfect playlist.<br />
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If you didn't know already, I am a planner, but because of this, I have often been told the cliche quote, "People plan and God laughs." <i>Oh, how he must have laughed on Saturday. </i><br />
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That morning I checked the weather only to find that it was supposed to thunderstorm starting in the afternoon and going on through the night. By that point, I had already set up everything in the yard. Trying not to begin panicking, I moved everything into the house or the garage just in case.<br />
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I spent the afternoon preparing the food, organizing chairs, and trying to figure out where people would fit if we did all end up having to be inside. My friend and her new boyfriend came early to help us set up.<br />
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About a half hour after they came, just as we finished filling up the coolers with ice and drinks (which were now in the kitchen instead of on the planned patio), the forecasted storm blew in. Rain coming down sideways. Lightening illuminating black skies. Roaring thunder. <br />
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And then... a flicker. The lights. They went off. Then immediately back on. We laughed, thanking God it was just a flicker of the lights.<br />
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And then... they flickered again, but this time they didn't come back on. We had no power. No lights. No electricity to the crockpot my taco meat was cooking in. No air conditioning to keep all our guests, who would now be inside our house instead of able to come and go, cool.<br />
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By that point, people were already on their way. My friend's family ended up turning around because the storm was so bad where they were coming from they couldn't see the roads. People trickled in, talking about how scary the storms were.<br />
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I thought about how blessed I was that these people battled a thunderstorm to drive to Wisconsin to see us. Ironically enough, it ended up being my family and the majority of our bridal party. Which really makes sense and affirms our having chosen them to stand by us on our wedding day.<br />
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None seemed to care all too much about the lack of power. We ate tacos that had stayed warm despite the lack of electricity and drank beer that had been kept cool in our brand new coolers. Brandon gave candlelit tours of our new house. We listened to my perfect playlist off of my phone (thank God for battery saver mode)! We laughed and played drinking games by candlelight.<br />
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By 11:30, the power came back on. Just in time for the house to cool down before people started getting ready for bed. It was if it were planned that way, power off just long enough for all of us to hang out together in the dark, but back on in time for us to sleep comfortably.<br />
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Though things didn't go as I had envisioned them, everything turned out perfect. We were surrounded by friends who cared about us enough to, as Peter put it, drive into the movie Twister, so they could come celebrate our new house with us. We ate and sang and laughed and played and everybody was safe.<br />
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Though I don't know if I will ever stop being a planner, <i>I think it is getting easier as I get older to laugh along with God when things don't go as planned.</i> Moments like these prove that even though you envision things going one way, it can be even better if they take a completely different turn.Emily Porterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561758542757493595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040028346465566553.post-4789376626796223872016-07-11T07:26:00.002-07:002016-07-11T07:26:59.407-07:00Marriage is...I sit here, on the morning of our first anniversary, reflecting. I have written already of the many things that have been happening for Brandon and I in the last year. I have written already of the many things we have been through that make us a strong team. <br />
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Today, I am thinking about all the things we were told marriage would or would not be. Marriage is life changing. Marriage is hard. Marriage is not a compromise. It is either a lose-lose or a win-win. Marriage is not something to be taken lightly. Marriage is a blessing. <br />
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Today, I am reflecting on all the things we have found marriage to be in our first year. Some align with the advice we had been given and some are far from it.<br />
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First, marriage is a compromise. A friend of ours told us, quite passionately, about a retreat he had gone on that preached how marriage was not a compromise, it was always a win-win or a lose-lose. He was so adamant about that making sense, but I remember leaving his apartment with Brandon and trying to sort through that logic.<br />
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Going into marriage thinking that every decision you make together will end in a loss for both of you or a win for both of you is going to set you up for frustration. Sure, its a nice sentiment to think that if your spouse doesn't get exactly what they wanted and take a "loss" you will also be taking a "loss" because marriage is a partnership. The reality however, is that marriage is a partnership, but if you go through life thinking that unless your partner is "winning" you will not be, you will find yourself very conflicted.<br />
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You are two different people. I have different ideas than Brandon does about a lot of things. If we always go with what I want or always go with what he wants, where does that leave the other person? Sometimes you have to take a loss for your partner to win. Sometimes you have to let yourself win and accept that your partner is losing. Sometimes you both don't get what you want, but end up with something just as good. That is a partnership.<br />
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Second, marriage is not something to be taken lightly. Brandon and I knew for a long time that we would marry each other. When we did, we were young newlyweds for this generation. He was twenty-three and I was still twenty-two and I am sure that many people questioned why we were getting married so young.<br />
<br />
Here's the thing, when you find someone who you can see being your partner through life, through the good and the really really bad, life might get hard sometimes, but your marriage will not be. So often people decide to marry solely because of love. Love is only part of a marriage. Brandon and I love each other very much, but we also know that whatever life throws at us, we can handle and will handle together.<br />
<br />
Finally, a year goes by really fast. Some weeks you will feel like they are being dragged out, but by the end of it, you will question what happened to all your time. In one year, Brandon and I accomplished A LOT and looking back there are so many moments I wish we could slow down. Our honeymoon. Hunting for our first house together. Our wedding day.<br />
<br />
Marriage is life changing because you get to spend your life with someone who loves you, supports you, and will be there with you through it all. The biggest thing I have learned this year is to be present in every moment together because they go so quickly. Take time to just be together and continue to view your marriage and your time together as a blessing because it is. <br />
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July 11, 2015</div>
<br />Emily Porterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561758542757493595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040028346465566553.post-16789516599675641202016-06-23T18:11:00.002-07:002016-06-23T18:11:13.193-07:00 Twenty Something Boxes and A Couple Rolls of Packing TapeIt is amazing how quickly you can pack all the things you consider yours using twenty something boxes and a couple rolls of packing tape. Just when you aren't sure how you are going to do it, you find yourself packing the last few items you have been holding off on into boxes. The last pans. Your tea pot. The baking supplies. The silverware.<br />
<br />
Monday marks moving day, an impossibly fast approaching date that seemed forever away when we accepted the offer on our place and heard news that our offer on our new house had been accepted a month ago, but now it is three days away.<br />
<br />
I knew it would be stressful, moving to a different state, but I didn't think it would hit me this hard. Last night was my last night volunteering at Barb's Precious Rescue and I found myself unable to even say a proper goodbye because I was fighting back tears. I cried the whole car ride home and into Brandon's arms once I got there.<br />
<br />
Today, I found myself near tears checking out a library book because I realized it was the last one I would check out from the library I have gone to my whole life. I found myself thinking of all the places I won't go to regularly anymore and all the people who are there, most just acquaintances, but who are familiar and comforting to me.<br />
<br />
I am finding that it is not the act of packing my things that is making me so emotional. It is the fact that there are so many people, places, and experiences that make me feel at home that I can't take with me.<br />
<br />
The thing that is getting me through this though, besides the occasional, emotional cry, is that Brandon and our three fur babies will be in our new home with me. We have a sign on our wall (currently packed in a box) that says "<i>Wherever we are together, that is home.</i>" It may sound cheesy, but it is true.<br />
<br />
There are so many people and places in this town that I will miss seeing on a regular basis. I have lived here my whole life. How could I not miss them? But I know that moving to a new place is a fresh start, a chance to find familiar places and people to call our own, together.<br />
<br />
Moving doesn't change the fact that familiarity is comforting. It doesn't just instantly make us forget the things we associate ourselves, our home, with. It just forces us to find new familiar things to find comfort in. I don't know what they will be yet, but I know that we will find them.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Wisconsin here we come!</b> </div>
Emily Porterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561758542757493595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040028346465566553.post-65578805017297802252016-06-17T16:07:00.001-07:002016-06-17T16:07:26.727-07:00I Will Not Let You Recite My PainLast night, as helicopters circled over head and I found myself worrying that violence, in whatever capacity, had found its way into my neighborhood, I began to reflect on the terrible things we have been hearing about as of late.<br />
<br />
The local shootings, the mass shootings, the bombings, the hate. So much hate. And the fear. And as a writer I find that often, I feel this intense need to write about these things as a way to sort through them. I also, however, keep finding myself at a crossroads.<br />
<br />
I am a straight, white, woman who grew up in a middle class, Catholic, suburban home, who does not know and cannot pretend to know what people who are different from me feel regarding these situations.<br />
<br />
It is infuriating to me when people try to comment on the situations without having been a part of it or the community it effects. Perhaps this is just social media and the media in general exposing me and my fellow Americans to a platform where everyone feels they should have some long, often political, reaction to the news headlines. <br />
<br />
I am not saying that we cannot all mourn the loss of life or have an opinion. Lord knows I have seen the comments about how everything offends people nowadays. As I said before, I know that often we just don't know how to sort through these situations without saying <i>something</i>. I know that as human beings we all have a reaction.<br />
<br />
I am saying that there are some situations that call for us to sit back and listen to the victims, the witnesses, their families, their communities. I am saying maybe we need to let them tell their stories. I am saying we don't all need to share our feelings about things because so often we worry so much about what to say that we miss the chance to learn about each other and grow as a nation, as human beings.<br />
<br />
I came across a poem (shared below) today that I had written for the 30 Poems in 30 Days challenge in April this year. This was before the horrific Orlando shooting. It was not even in response to any sort of similar situation, but as I reread it, I feel that it is so relative <br />
<br />
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- - -</div>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-11da81bb-6095-9595-50ae-ea8712b9baea" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Raleway; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">My Pain</span></div>
<br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Raleway; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I will not let you recite my pain</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Raleway; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">for it is mine to share or hide.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Raleway; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I have the privilege of choice, so</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Raleway; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I will recite my own pain, thanks.</span></div>
<br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Raleway; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">For it is mine to share or hide,</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Raleway; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">this image of the hardest in my life.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Raleway; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I will recite my own pain, thanks.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Raleway; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Maybe another day you will share yours.</span></div>
<br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Raleway; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">This image of the hard<span style="font-family: serif;">est</span> in my life,</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Raleway; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">it means nothing coming from you.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Raleway; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Maybe another day you can share yours,</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Raleway; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">so we will all understand each other better.</span></div>
<br /><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Raleway; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">It means nothing coming from you.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Raleway; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I have the privilege of choice so,</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Raleway; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">So we will all understand each other better.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Raleway; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I will not let you recite my pain.</span></div>
Emily Porterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561758542757493595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040028346465566553.post-960329179564441702016-06-03T14:05:00.004-07:002016-06-03T14:06:32.108-07:00Settling Into LifeLast January, Brandon and I got engaged.<br />
Last February, we decided to buy a condo together.<br />
Last April, we had the wedding shower, closed on our condo, painted the whole thing in one weekend, and moved our stuff in with just a U-Haul pick up truck and my dad's mini van.<br />
Last May, we adopted our two cats. <br />
Last June, I accepted a new job, my dream job.<br />
Last July, Brandon and I got married.<br />
<br />
Now, just one year later I feel like I am doing it all over again. Now, I have my dream job and can't imagine doing anything else every day. I am married and happy to be celebrating our one year anniversary soon and not having to worry about planning a wedding. Despite all this though, there is still a lot going on in my life.<br />
<br />
This May, Brandon took a job with the Milwaukee Bucks, his dream job.<br />
This May, we decided to move to Wisconsin so we could be halfway between our jobs, both of our dream jobs. (Yes, I am keeping mine because he would never ask me to leave it for him and I wouldn't anyway. Being asked this is a new pet peeve of mine.)<br />
This May, we listed our condo and it sold in two days.<br />
This May, we found a house in Wisconsin that we absolutely love.<br />
This May, we adopted a new cat since we will have the room to care for more. <br />
And this June, in three weeks, we will be closing on our old place, then our new place (all in one day) and making the move to the great cheese state.<br />
<br />
As I have been telling people all of this, they have been joking that things seem to happen so quickly in my life. I have been thinking about this a lot lately (maybe to avoid thinking about how much I have to pack) because it seems so true. Decisions are made and things just get done. Maybe this is because I stress about things if I let them go on for too long. Maybe it is because I know what I want and I make it happen. Or maybe, this is just because this is how things are meant to be.<br />
<br />
I think this is the next step in Brandon and I settling into life together. I will have my dream job. He will have his. We will have a house that we can grow in together in the state we always joked we would retire in together. We will be leaving our family and close friends here too, but something tells me the distance won't matter. Something tells me that we will still be surrounded by these people whether near or far, but also be welcomed into a new community. Things happen for a reason and I can't help but think that this is the next step towards finding our home together. Emily Porterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561758542757493595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040028346465566553.post-4981762726548948042016-05-05T14:27:00.000-07:002016-05-05T14:28:09.429-07:00An Open Letter To The Boy Who Took A Girl With A Disability to Prom<b>Dear you, the boy in the news article, who is being praised for taking a girl with a disability to prom,</b><br />
<br />
I am choosing to believe that your intentions were of the purest sort. That you did this, out of the kindness of your heart, not because of the potential news coverage. I want you to know, that I am not writing because I am unhappy with what you did.<br />
<br />
I am writing because I don't think it is right that a newspaper covered this. I don't think it is right that something like this, such kindness towards people with disabilities, should be portrayed as a miracle, as something out of the ordinary, as if you are a hero.<br />
<br />
Maybe to that girl, you are. Maybe this is something she will remember for the rest of her life. BUT maybe the newspaper didn't need to write about it. Maybe someday, kindness will not be something seen as heroism, but the norm. Maybe including people with disabilities will someday, not be something seen as heroism, but the norm.<br />
<br />
My sister, Karlee, has Down Syndrome and she has spent her whole life longing to fit in. She does not want to be treated as different, as someone who needs saving. She wants to be treated as someone worthy enough of a prom date. She wants to be treated as someone worthy enough of a paid job. She wants to be treated as someone worthy of being included in her community without the newspapers writing about it's novelty. And that is all I have ever wanted for her. <br />
<br />
I have chosen to devote my career to this. I work every day to help people with disabilities integrate into their communities, to have meaningful experiences that benefit themselves as well as everyone else, to be independent, successful members of society. I work every day towards a world where someone with a disability going to prom or getting a paid job isn't deemed as newsworthy, but is something that is expected.<br />
<br />
During Autism Awareness month, I saw a Facebook post saying we should not be focusing on "Awareness," but rather on "Acceptance." The newspaper article about you, served as the awareness piece. Yes, there are people in our communities with disabilities, but we have all known this. This, is not newsworthy. The fact that they are wanting to join their peers in age-appropriate acitivites is not newsworthy.<br />
<br />
Instead, we should be educating. We should be teaching people about inclusion and acceptance, that a label of a disability does not mean pity. It just means they might do things, hear things, see things, differently. We should be teaching people to accept and accommodate people with disabilities.<br />
<br />
Maybe someday we will celebrate Autism Acceptance Month or Down Syndrome Acceptance Month or Disability Acceptance Month, but maybe someday we won't have to. Maybe someday people will be able to live their lives without the newspaper covering the story of someone's kindness towards them.<br />
<br />
Thank you for <i>your</i> kindness, but your story has shown me that we have a lot more work to do.<br />
<br />
Sincerely,<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><i>Emily </i></span><br />
A sister, a teacher, a friend, a concerned citizenEmily Porterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561758542757493595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040028346465566553.post-78587045436784465672016-04-25T13:48:00.001-07:002016-04-25T13:49:16.959-07:00A Finite Number of WordsI recently read a book called "The Mystics of Mile End" by Sigal Samuel, which is a beautifully written story of lives intertwined. It follows a Jewish community, specifically a young family whose loss of their mother has changed their relationships forever. The family is attempting to sort through their faith, grief, and the meaning of life.<br />
<br />
One of the characters, Mr. Goodman, is a Jewish teacher and Holocaust survivor. Readers are given a glimpse into his relationship with his wife, whom he met before the war, was separated from and sent to different concentration camps, and later found again and married. The interesting thing about their relationship, however, is that they rarely speak to each other. This is because Mr. Goodman believes that people are only given a set number of words and once they have used up their words, they will die.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyQMu49TkG-z2ifxy3QTTtQiau__QuRWOM5hLh26X0sVV1TMqDx82gWxzwVAv8a48zwsVj7lBnGMsD8gkZNl-Z5jVbz_uWTh95OklQajsolBxr73BtZ3VTVVyDCKpLcrDvdZlMMY_EfnyK/s1600/24331537.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyQMu49TkG-z2ifxy3QTTtQiau__QuRWOM5hLh26X0sVV1TMqDx82gWxzwVAv8a48zwsVj7lBnGMsD8gkZNl-Z5jVbz_uWTh95OklQajsolBxr73BtZ3VTVVyDCKpLcrDvdZlMMY_EfnyK/s200/24331537.jpg" width="132" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/24331537-the-mystics-of-mile-end">The Mystics of Mile End</a>) </div>
<br />
This is not a new concept to me. I have seen the movie "A Thousand Words," starring Eddie Murphy where this exact thing happens. He is told that he only has a thousand words left to speak before he dies. As he speaks, each word causes a leaf to fall off a tree that mysteriously grew in his backyard. When all the leaves are gone, his words are used up, and he will die.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd2KnIJ6dLf4EGDze21r8rHBQ433s3IGxwnWFPD1sMHKibKB2iwyTotkWVnprz0chBBef3bhOfrMQrC2-O0nJL6ZoK9qAk6iOx8Qm_vEhWdWdkWq8dgWUhExYjXMqJ1k0xS-jUIwlGdJtI/s1600/index.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd2KnIJ6dLf4EGDze21r8rHBQ433s3IGxwnWFPD1sMHKibKB2iwyTotkWVnprz0chBBef3bhOfrMQrC2-O0nJL6ZoK9qAk6iOx8Qm_vEhWdWdkWq8dgWUhExYjXMqJ1k0xS-jUIwlGdJtI/s1600/index.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0763831/">A Thousand Words</a>)</div>
<br />
Upon reading the book and reflecting on its connection to the movie's theme, I began to think. I am a teacher, a writer, a poet, a student, a wife, a daughter, a sister, and on top of that, I love to sing in the car. I speak A LOT of words in a day and can't imagine how many I will speak in a lifetime. Even as I am writing this, my natural instinct is to read the words aloud to make sure they sound okay.<br />
<br />
BUT what would happen if we did only have a finite amount of words to speak before we would use them up and die? If we knew what our number was would we speak differently than if we just knew that someday we would run out?<br />
<br />
Would I write as much, learn as much, sing as much? Would Brandon and I stop talking to each other as Mr. Goodman and his wife did? Would my teaching and relationships with my students be better or worse? Would my relationships in general be better or worse?<br />
<br />
Some days I know that I should speak as if I only have a thousand words left. Some days, I speak carelessly anyway. Maybe reading this story was a hint that I should talk less. Maybe it was just a coincidence. Either way, it made me think...Emily Porterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04561758542757493595noreply@blogger.com0