tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90007849003012271782024-02-07T20:05:54.135-06:00A Matter of Life & BreathMelodie Beth Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01491194906557915679noreply@blogger.comBlogger96125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000784900301227178.post-69642092770372567882023-03-17T19:33:00.003-05:002023-03-17T19:33:54.232-05:00My St. Patrick's Day Dog<div style="text-align: left;"><div>My first house dog would be 28-years-old today, March 17, 2023. She was a red, standard-sized dachshund from a show dog family raised by breeder Jacquie Girrens Schwab. Her life with me lasted 11 years and nine months. I named her Lexy. </div><div><br /></div><div>Like with many doxies, her back legs went out. It was a tough time for me until three months later when we decided to get another doggy. Sure, we had Pepper, my step-daughter’s toy rat terrier, but I missed Lexy and the dachshund personality.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQHdCDXctRbBK4BoJFzZDsDxVI9QlFkO1SnOhvzmqyaXDqlN5ySYdfWxANr185uWlCi1x2psOlzKdgqQHf3SMvD2Os_9T-DzYSJz6-wyKAlo6Sl3EnflgAgyro5uRhssGI_Le0rOnj3UJpdV541TrSTRvuABDJAhQxU8jnQ1Hl2iSC7TmR390xPzGUtw/s2048/DantheMan-memories%20picture.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1699" data-original-width="2048" height="331" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQHdCDXctRbBK4BoJFzZDsDxVI9QlFkO1SnOhvzmqyaXDqlN5ySYdfWxANr185uWlCi1x2psOlzKdgqQHf3SMvD2Os_9T-DzYSJz6-wyKAlo6Sl3EnflgAgyro5uRhssGI_Le0rOnj3UJpdV541TrSTRvuABDJAhQxU8jnQ1Hl2iSC7TmR390xPzGUtw/w400-h331/DantheMan-memories%20picture.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Dan the Man with his two-toned eyes</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>So the day before what would have been Lexy's 12th birthday in 2008, 15 years ago now, we drove five hours one way to get a dog. A rescue dog. Not one that would enter burning buildings, sniff out drugs, or therapeutically fix a lonely person, although he did do that for me, but the kind that needed a home.</div><div><br /></div><div><div>His paperwork said Daniel, and he was almost 4-years-old with a birthday of May 12, 2004. I renamed him Dan the Man. And a little man he was. What a precious creature. I’d found him on PetFinder.com. Had to send in a few references and the name of my vet, Mike Herndon. </div><div><br /></div><div>I love telling how I found this dog because that’s how I found my husband. Online. Picked him out too because of how he looked. I am that vane.</div><div><br /></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG6nGz9uCYgVVsD3ATSns6OlGm71XnWj-GBCwpR-d7U07ge58KxaoEL79z186cizvlWlle3Pn6nQi3Na9mG_2q4MA0HXHcgtcFQXcFP1vOTzR449oBtErnKIPT3jfvJOmZt5WHCjoChHGPKwKl3DSuY4jEATVLXFWaPMDg31vKlaajN0UkKieHtF_dlA/s5184/DanTheMan-Pepper-cute%20faces.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG6nGz9uCYgVVsD3ATSns6OlGm71XnWj-GBCwpR-d7U07ge58KxaoEL79z186cizvlWlle3Pn6nQi3Na9mG_2q4MA0HXHcgtcFQXcFP1vOTzR449oBtErnKIPT3jfvJOmZt5WHCjoChHGPKwKl3DSuY4jEATVLXFWaPMDg31vKlaajN0UkKieHtF_dlA/w400-h266/DanTheMan-Pepper-cute%20faces.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Dan the Man & Pepper in Dec. 2011</span></td></tr></tbody></table>After Lexy’s passing, Chris had seen how sad I was without her. Read more about that <a href="http://melodieharris.blogspot.com/2014/11/the-loss-of-pet.html">here</a>. Not even an early Christmas present of “Gilligan’s Island” DVDs cheered me up, so he agreed to get another dachshund. Thus my search began. We took Pepper with us when we traveled on that chilly spring break day on March 16 to make sure the two canines would get along.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Dan the Man looked just like his online picture, but nothing like my Lexy. His body was shorter and stockier. He enjoyed squeak toys and would sometimes bring them back to you. Most times, Lexy didn’t mess with such foolishness. She was all red; he was black with patches of red, cute ones on his little butt. His bulging eyes of different colors warmed my heart. </div><div><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSKz0Yd6uudsbfAtvBy-en-2Dxm-CcwcD8Evo2Ly7O1JGXj612YDRCA8rtmoa2UwiLNW_ydpJJb9Ji8z3ayi8S6UbawfNtqTwIZlv6giWtnxDq7raJSxMgfo-Di6_IS3xllr2xiQdtw8lG65DPATHFTV3V2Cwg0aEoq1WbKVSRdgAr4vGmsXg8zIOfgw/s1456/DantheMan-google-eyes.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1425" data-original-width="1456" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSKz0Yd6uudsbfAtvBy-en-2Dxm-CcwcD8Evo2Ly7O1JGXj612YDRCA8rtmoa2UwiLNW_ydpJJb9Ji8z3ayi8S6UbawfNtqTwIZlv6giWtnxDq7raJSxMgfo-Di6_IS3xllr2xiQdtw8lG65DPATHFTV3V2Cwg0aEoq1WbKVSRdgAr4vGmsXg8zIOfgw/w200-h196/DantheMan-google-eyes.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">in June 2015</span></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div>But last May in 2022, the day after his 18th birthday, we put him down. It’s as though he knew I wanted him to reach that ripe age. When he awoke that day and tried to walk, sometimes his back legs tucked under him. He slipped on the non-carpeted floors. His face seemed to droop at times. And he let my husband Chris do anything with him. Something he normally didn’t allow. I knew the time had come. </div></div><div><br /></div><div>A couple months prior, Dan the Man had been diagnosed with kidney issues by our vet Monica Moore at Sisters Veterinary (they took over Herndon’s after Mike’s passing). For food, he didn’t like his normal stuff, which I’d begun soaking, for many teeth had been pulled throughout the years. After two doses of the moist canned food, he refused to eat it. </div><div><br /></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlXdXFvggZL96Qiiwmqnf_HX6lgBVCVvd8it2kvxpH5-0z8LVYUIvgrEqmdDPoW8PhSAhKUWr77z9-H-pep8AUEFeg4ky_xjqUvH3b9rNaboNM98aZvVUWNZV2TRuGGmsjhBTUQyJP0TygTpVzBdExkjGalWlXsi0KE6VjdsADwNY3AT7slqra4xGBng/s4032/at%20Vet%20-%20DanTheMan%20-%20Melodie%20-%20awaiting%20final%20shot.1.HEIC" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlXdXFvggZL96Qiiwmqnf_HX6lgBVCVvd8it2kvxpH5-0z8LVYUIvgrEqmdDPoW8PhSAhKUWr77z9-H-pep8AUEFeg4ky_xjqUvH3b9rNaboNM98aZvVUWNZV2TRuGGmsjhBTUQyJP0TygTpVzBdExkjGalWlXsi0KE6VjdsADwNY3AT7slqra4xGBng/w240-h320/at%20Vet%20-%20DanTheMan%20-%20Melodie%20-%20awaiting%20final%20shot.1.HEIC" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">holding him the last time</span> </td></tr></tbody></table></div><div>My husband said, “You cannot let him not eat! He’s hungry!” So we gave him whatever he seemed to like of people food. Chicken from Benny’s, Sugar Corn Crisp, toast. If he was really hungry, he’d eat that soaked old dog food of his. He never was a big water drinker compared to my first dachshund who I raised from little on, and who knows, maybe that contributed to his kidney issues. You cannot make a dog drink, or take eyes drops, or force a toothbrush in his mouth.</div><div><br /></div><div>We put him down on Friday the 13, so fitting for such a sad time. Prior to his passing at the end of April, we’d gotten a mini-Australian Shepard, Chris’ breed of choice. I insisted we get her because I foolishly though having another dog around might bring Dan the Man some joy. No such luck. One look at Dixie and in the house he went. He was never mean to her. Just tolerated a wild 2-month-old puppy. </div><div><div><br /></div><div>So like Lexy, whose last few years were filled with jealousy of a husband and step-daughter, Dan the Man's last few weeks of life were not pleasurable. For this, I feel bad. But I will never feel bad about giving a dog a good life. And Dan got just that.</div><div><br /></div><div>He loved the pavilion in the backyard. His little nose would constantly twitch taking in all the smells of the trees and flowers. He'd sit nearby as I graded papers, read, wrote, and spoke on the phone. As he aged, his walks were shortened to the railroad tracks and back. Sometimes he’d actually run! Ever seen an old wiener run? Hilarious. His tongue would hang-out to the side.</div><div><br /></div><div>Dan was a stately fella though, rarely huffing and puffing. Lexy didn’t do that either. There’s something almost aristocratic about a wiener dog. It’s a juxtaposition of their silly-shaped body and their solemn, dignified face. Since he was all black, the heat would bother Dan, and I’d have to force him in the house some summer days.</div><div><br /></div><div>In retrospect, I think Dan the Man lost his will to live after we put Pepper down. They didn’t really play together anymore (they used to chase each other in the backyard, prop on the couch like cats, and stare out the window) but often sat in the doggy basket side by side. He grew anxious and sniffed by the door until he stained it and the hardwood floor due to his dripping nose.</div><div><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuhXjJUG732dOOkITn6Trix0PdtSIP0GQ_c54twqHABcQy5aqtiEwdcLB4dewQrMWiXGotEr-fE6ws2ieaRjV31xSnK3T5w4zOFwe6zk87x_4mGw-PM17CZoAe5MRjiFkXejx-kWNEfXbZjqNrvfpyrBAch8hJ5RBIpRARS7_0mfZNm8SjaBA5lKYG6w/s3648/DantheMan-Pepper-onCOUCHlikecats2.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2736" data-original-width="3648" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuhXjJUG732dOOkITn6Trix0PdtSIP0GQ_c54twqHABcQy5aqtiEwdcLB4dewQrMWiXGotEr-fE6ws2ieaRjV31xSnK3T5w4zOFwe6zk87x_4mGw-PM17CZoAe5MRjiFkXejx-kWNEfXbZjqNrvfpyrBAch8hJ5RBIpRARS7_0mfZNm8SjaBA5lKYG6w/w320-h240/DantheMan-Pepper-onCOUCHlikecats2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">dogs who act like cats</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div>If I’d make a trip to family in South Dakota, he’d go on a hunger strike. Chris bribed him with spaghetti sauce otherwise he would not eat. After Dan the Man’s passing, I realized that with Pepper gone, it was the first time in his life he didn’t have another dog around. That was traumatic for him, poor fella. Maybe he was remembering his pre-Harris days.</div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTzXdrX-nouM9qbTZ8uOHxwL_GVB1vcmVX5tJWKgJ5lW7DIQEZm9nnnwbZXaPDFpeSAlnz1GmAZjkUZZ7nvu1x2DVDMIOiobsZwb38HB6mz76vI_3R_mw5eoDIa149WDTD9hPbRDXie2smxENAS4FjecFS_uugPftP8zPN1Wt4iRz0V4vuP7F9CWYDPQ/s5184/doggies_Feb.2015-doggy%20bed.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTzXdrX-nouM9qbTZ8uOHxwL_GVB1vcmVX5tJWKgJ5lW7DIQEZm9nnnwbZXaPDFpeSAlnz1GmAZjkUZZ7nvu1x2DVDMIOiobsZwb38HB6mz76vI_3R_mw5eoDIa149WDTD9hPbRDXie2smxENAS4FjecFS_uugPftP8zPN1Wt4iRz0V4vuP7F9CWYDPQ/s320/doggies_Feb.2015-doggy%20bed.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div><div>When we’d gotten him from Seven Bell’s Sanctuary in Cole Camp, Missouri, I learned the details of his life. He’d been a breeder’s dog and they sold out. Another breeder bought him. That breeder decided he was not needed, so that person’s vet got in contact with Judy from dog rescue. She had him only a few days until it was time for him to get neutered. He returned to her for a few days, and then he went into doggy foster care because Judy had an operation and couldn’t care for him for awhile.</div><div><br /></div><div>Seems that within 30 days, this little doggy had been living with four, if not five, different people! What would a child be like if that was done? So yes, Dan the Man had his issues. So did Lexy, by the way -- read about those <a href="http://melodieharris.blogspot.com/2015/03/things-my-dog-ate-survived.html">here</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>He liked baths, which we were told he hated. He was scared of thunderstorms, but at first he wasn’t. Not sure what triggered that. We tried dryer sheets, meds (but you have to give them well in advance of a storm arriving), aromatic diffusers, and a Thundercoat (a 40-dollar dog tuxedo that wrapped him tight). He was quite the special needs dog.</div></div><div><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnXhNTFc0C9gYA7YBqIs8dtGerZM0Mj2zTnf8ybhir3mq2X0BKm9LN3cWJiSGLvXKPqiLdHwUy0exsjJEzkjEGQkNqPeskzFll8qpB4XHgRp3GHNVrE4WVEE0f3LZ6US3t3pLatxOu5mFOjAzRxeT7Fd24cGrjFnvm75oQcJkfmqZutpG2q6OrNwmcHg/s3394/DanTheMan%20&%20Melodie%20-%20standclose-upGOOGLEYES%20-%20on%20his%20bday%20-%20May%2012%20-%201.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3394" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnXhNTFc0C9gYA7YBqIs8dtGerZM0Mj2zTnf8ybhir3mq2X0BKm9LN3cWJiSGLvXKPqiLdHwUy0exsjJEzkjEGQkNqPeskzFll8qpB4XHgRp3GHNVrE4WVEE0f3LZ6US3t3pLatxOu5mFOjAzRxeT7Fd24cGrjFnvm75oQcJkfmqZutpG2q6OrNwmcHg/s320/DanTheMan%20&%20Melodie%20-%20standclose-upGOOGLEYES%20-%20on%20his%20bday%20-%20May%2012%20-%201.jpg" width="285" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">on his 18th birthday</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div>After his first morning here, Dan the Man was scared to death of Chris. He'd run outside dropping turds along the way if I wasn't around. After a few days of this, I thought Chris would make me return him. We called Judy and she encouraged Chris to get on Dan’s level. Yes, down on the floor. So he did. He’d give him treats, people food, whatever it took to get him to come closer. And it worked. Probably contributed to Dan the Man’s rotten teeth. But I'll never forget the love my husband showed in doing whatever it took, so I could keep my new doggy.</div><div><div><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKn5GBXJ6VueiuMOWcDld-zNkrmqwYHidXPjorqSRPoGoQrMlMrifOWLJkZs-EiNYAYedm2MxQZ2hP7w3iAFt3qqJvykoJAXNp8eOAADNp8rQdaFPlxzZI3QqoTpPRhHxjy9y5FytE5MYaaVMRjusETKI4N1ByI14-SFC2RrkdRztQhfS7ShRMtb-nlw/s3072/DanwithChris.March1.2009_onfloorwithChris.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2304" data-original-width="3072" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKn5GBXJ6VueiuMOWcDld-zNkrmqwYHidXPjorqSRPoGoQrMlMrifOWLJkZs-EiNYAYedm2MxQZ2hP7w3iAFt3qqJvykoJAXNp8eOAADNp8rQdaFPlxzZI3QqoTpPRhHxjy9y5FytE5MYaaVMRjusETKI4N1ByI14-SFC2RrkdRztQhfS7ShRMtb-nlw/w400-h300/DanwithChris.March1.2009_onfloorwithChris.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Chris gets Dan the Man to trust him</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div>I was proud of the little fella, told stories about him, and put pictures of him in my punctuation and grammar lessons for school. Students during this time most likely heard me sing the Dan the Man song.</div><div><br /></div><div>As the years passed, he lost his hearing – no more fear of storms! He had cataracts and a growth near his bum. I knew the end was near, and we’d been discussing the next dog. I was shocked when my husband said in mixed company one time, “No more dachshunds.” I was heartbroken. </div><div><br /></div><div>After a few days, I heard my dad’s voice telling me to get the type of dog that Chris wanted – after all he’d put up with Lexy’s jealousy and Dan the Man’s neediness. That breed was a mini-Aussie. So we start another house dog story with Dixie and her antics. I’m sure I’ll write posts about her too.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHQRoGZ5HU9RAfvznnEoHrkXqQHq7tKgDn6GtrajCd_Du5krWz8QfkjteOEzz8tFJjQWRjXXd3j45mqGYwqXQ-W7DQI4eA_fvWPoVePmPL0qcM_-VkW4nXWC-Bb9rdaqBt1FECi9jgGZQyPHITKBsjvyzd00vDd-SlEiOhVUwiN2T0uVFQaVdE1FHutQ/s3840/Dan%202.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3096" data-original-width="3840" height="323" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHQRoGZ5HU9RAfvznnEoHrkXqQHq7tKgDn6GtrajCd_Du5krWz8QfkjteOEzz8tFJjQWRjXXd3j45mqGYwqXQ-W7DQI4eA_fvWPoVePmPL0qcM_-VkW4nXWC-Bb9rdaqBt1FECi9jgGZQyPHITKBsjvyzd00vDd-SlEiOhVUwiN2T0uVFQaVdE1FHutQ/w400-h323/Dan%202.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">showing off in December of 2014</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div>And even though today is Lexy’s birthday, I chose not to write about her because I’d never gone public with the details of Dan the Man’s passing the day after his birthday. It was due to Lexy and those before her -- Pooch, Frisky, Hitchcock Boy, and Jupiter – all capturing different parts of my heart that I’ll always want a doggy around. </div><div><br /></div><div>Don’t ever let the love you have for a pet stop you from getting another one. You are not replacing them. You are giving a living being a home. A lifetime of memories. A lifetime of love. Your heart has room.</div></div><div><br /></div></div>Melodie Beth Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01491194906557915679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000784900301227178.post-70747192551039110412023-01-01T15:23:00.000-06:002023-01-01T15:23:55.741-06:00Little Blue Suitcase<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Sentimental me enjoys the occasional walk down memory lane stored away in this cabinet. Read about how we refurbished it <a href="http://melodieharris.blogspot.com/2015/07/piece-of-furniture-finds-its-forever.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLpu1aIx9sTWuTP3zOF836wAc4UxGzu2sxIWqxDOwYCTo4RiN_VeMLLxYJ0Aos4vkPGYrBJlswuIIQJFOWNhaqO-sqaFUpZ-lltUSJaCh2uXy91oaThuRP5x4D8X3Nfr2TgY6tNyefQk0TKE1sy7HYWg7PO_HTzVU-43pvQxjxKO0k6Dm9rPn4VvLjNQ/w300-h400/A6DBCEC3-3214-4740-96CE-5F8DC0A074D9.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">my Grandma Elizabeth's cabinet</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLpu1aIx9sTWuTP3zOF836wAc4UxGzu2sxIWqxDOwYCTo4RiN_VeMLLxYJ0Aos4vkPGYrBJlswuIIQJFOWNhaqO-sqaFUpZ-lltUSJaCh2uXy91oaThuRP5x4D8X3Nfr2TgY6tNyefQk0TKE1sy7HYWg7PO_HTzVU-43pvQxjxKO0k6Dm9rPn4VvLjNQ/s4032/A6DBCEC3-3214-4740-96CE-5F8DC0A074D9.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></a><span style="font-family: arial;">And as a new calendar year begins, I moved my parents’ funeral memorabilia into the little blue suitcase. How many trips to Kansas from South Dakota did that thing make over the years?</span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvOk-WZ7BCR_W-dZrWJMJZnJ4ZKI3DE63foafsXlryE4Efm9RL7OgjjaYo5ApBSnCQ_P3ZUQn4Kzt5Pp5gdH4z9EA3OK9_8R0FrilxKZwFUGlSnuc77zOKeMAWYFQDEX4YDrvPbLa-xW7FmHBa8y-uTOgDiLTnEbU8gBqM5nFCwh2EiRU0HUgeSYW6ng/s4032/D3EEDE8E-CA4C-4C0F-AA43-539BA13F69A8.jpeg" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvOk-WZ7BCR_W-dZrWJMJZnJ4ZKI3DE63foafsXlryE4Efm9RL7OgjjaYo5ApBSnCQ_P3ZUQn4Kzt5Pp5gdH4z9EA3OK9_8R0FrilxKZwFUGlSnuc77zOKeMAWYFQDEX4YDrvPbLa-xW7FmHBa8y-uTOgDiLTnEbU8gBqM5nFCwh2EiRU0HUgeSYW6ng/w300-h400/D3EEDE8E-CA4C-4C0F-AA43-539BA13F69A8.jpeg" width="300" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">inside it: sympathy cards & funeral info<br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">It flew on an airplane to Detroit for a wedding when I was four. Traveled to Omaha in various Oldsmobiles throughout my childhood to visit cousins at my Aunt Mary and Uncle Jr.'s. It housed shampoo, Dad's cologne, Mom's hairnets, and our toothbrushes. In its later years, most of its trips were only two hours away to sister Priscilla's with Dad's supplements inside. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Siblings probably thought I was crazy when I took it from the house near rural Hitchcock. What do you want with that? And husband: where are you going to put it?</span></p></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOMrG5UXsU13tgUwoub1Yd3hkq9VvV6_uj9jx07wA3tfDw6TSQQW1mT2HXAvMKYdyglch7mF8dWXvo1qidDba4rPKZxtsyLK3WEc-Q2L_P_tpq9qLX34OJg2OeXfFLjfVt7DCg-zOjO6FpUQ3QuVAtQYBrh3PzJXwTUVWP8U9myC0pSpccNz4gsxRSgQ/s4032/2DA104E7-9FE0-434C-B609-0E915297B4BA.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOMrG5UXsU13tgUwoub1Yd3hkq9VvV6_uj9jx07wA3tfDw6TSQQW1mT2HXAvMKYdyglch7mF8dWXvo1qidDba4rPKZxtsyLK3WEc-Q2L_P_tpq9qLX34OJg2OeXfFLjfVt7DCg-zOjO6FpUQ3QuVAtQYBrh3PzJXwTUVWP8U9myC0pSpccNz4gsxRSgQ/w300-h400/2DA104E7-9FE0-434C-B609-0E915297B4BA.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">the little blue suitcase</span><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;">I have lots of items from home since Dad’s death in February of 2021. And tomorrow on January 2, it will be 18 years since Mom’s passing in 2005. Read more about my mom <a href="http://melodieharris.blogspot.com/2016/01/the-legacy-mom-left.html" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="http://melodieharris.blogspot.com/2015/05/a-decade-without-mom-on-mothers-day.html" target="_blank">here</a>. That was the year of the Kansas ice storm that shutdown the state for about a week. Now that’s a set of memories for another time.</span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Until then, reflect, appreciate, and move forward into 2023 with some good habits.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;"><i>Where do you keep your memories of treasured pictures and newspaper clippings or programs from ball games and concerts? What are you memories of a suitcase from your childhood days?</i></span><br /><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p></div>Melodie Beth Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01491194906557915679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000784900301227178.post-41949814282511773392019-05-05T19:56:00.000-05:002019-05-05T19:56:07.257-05:0030 Years Ago Today: I saw the Little Town in the Valley for the 1st TimeI wasn't in the best mood when I came back from northeast Kansas with a note on my dorm room door that read, "Call Don Wells, sup't. at Cheney."<br />
<br />
I had just completed another interview. It was the spring of 1989, and I had driven all over the state from South Haven to LeRoy to Winfield to Scott City to Jetmore to Ness City, and Horton to name a few.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
The view driving from Horton back to Tabor College in Hillsboro, Kansas, was incredible. The hills, the landscape. But I was tired and prayed aloud if I'd ever get a job in an area that wasn't so far away from a larger city.<br />
<br />
So, I traipsed down the flight of stairs in the dorm to the payphone and set up the interview. Yes, a payphone. Back when we had to use a calling card and everyone around us could hear the conversation.<br />
<br />
I was drained. Missing too many classes and filling up the Olds Calais on a daily basis. But I needed a job, for I was graduating with an English education degree.<br />
<br />
I'm not sure what made me apply at Cheney. Was it the visit to the district's booth at the Fort Hays job fair when Russ Busenitz and I drove out there from Tabor College one spring day? No one else went, and there were other potential teachers graduating that spring. Why were we the only two to go?<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6NTqemn15DgmAyUXVXk9DC6tO47vyJ5jXpRlY8EE8tgCpx2tav0SMJriRrf8D-h97iyc7qsOCDYBCOpC9Va7gRcs2LQWax1Xx-7xlSwml-L7guhKpsvV3gOZpncye_7KeU3BYXBodlDiL/s1600/Cheney.Jr.High.firstclassroom.pristookthis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1050" data-original-width="1345" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6NTqemn15DgmAyUXVXk9DC6tO47vyJ5jXpRlY8EE8tgCpx2tav0SMJriRrf8D-h97iyc7qsOCDYBCOpC9Va7gRcs2LQWax1Xx-7xlSwml-L7guhKpsvV3gOZpncye_7KeU3BYXBodlDiL/s320/Cheney.Jr.High.firstclassroom.pristookthis.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">where it all began</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Or did I see Cheney's opening on a paper print-out in the career development office in the TC Library? Spent a lot of time there looking at the teacher openings. Spent a lot of money on stamps too sending out application letters and transcripts. So different from today. I also received by mail, the South Dakota teacher openings bulletin and even had an interview lined up at Miller in my home state once college was out.<br />
<br />
But I went ahead and called USD 268 to set-up the interview. It was for Friday, May 5, 1989. I don't remember seeing any students or athletes around, so the interview must have been later in the day. Maybe I requested that time, so I wouldn't miss anymore classes.<br />
<br />
My interview began with the 7-12 principal, Dick Wells. No relation to the school's superintendent, Don Wells. This was back when principals and superintendents interviewed the teachers, not a team of potential colleagues (although the Winfield interview was done in that manner due to the team-teaching nature of the position).<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVK-6OU_1Vitl7SUuAtGvKb-IqEo02LYNpyCxecP58JA_W0Z9W9F3VgaM_J1F0h4IbY-lwAxutv1AdXivnfj_sl3gA5RXNkJ80MptcO3sYjhZMslwuLa4RT9H_AS8yRgeGNgHxPWDGSXE6/s1600/JimGillett_note_1989FALL.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="785" data-original-width="1055" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVK-6OU_1Vitl7SUuAtGvKb-IqEo02LYNpyCxecP58JA_W0Z9W9F3VgaM_J1F0h4IbY-lwAxutv1AdXivnfj_sl3gA5RXNkJ80MptcO3sYjhZMslwuLa4RT9H_AS8yRgeGNgHxPWDGSXE6/s320/JimGillett_note_1989FALL.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">what a jewel, this note from Jim Gillett on day one</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The Cheney opening was for a 7th and 8th grade literature teacher. Literature. Not really my thing. I preferred writing, grammar, punctuation. And my student teaching experience included 9-12 at Halstead High. Would I want to teach jr. high students? I did have coaching experience with them at Hillsboro Middle School during my college years. So, maybe.<br />
<br />
The current literature teacher, Theo Voth, was going to be the 7-12 librarian, so that's why there was an opening. I was reassured she'd be able to guide me if I needed help. Theo also taught public speaking, which the district called oral communications due to certification issues. Since she would be taking over the yearbook, they wanted me to have the public speaking duties. I never got to meet Theo during the interview, but I did get introduced to co-workers, Paula Voth and Jack Goss.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDgvf8PctKQ64FKO5UCl39_qZxig9tMEmDikzjvc_wCqDqRCbZqkBw9dp0j75Tq0JamIWLsILRWAAAzyGAt1M2-STapOP1fMMPoWktRvHAxA7k-rNxyg2MN0j1hrXjhugDAgWVbmSSiHm9/s1600/Cheney.1989.90.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="603" data-original-width="441" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDgvf8PctKQ64FKO5UCl39_qZxig9tMEmDikzjvc_wCqDqRCbZqkBw9dp0j75Tq0JamIWLsILRWAAAzyGAt1M2-STapOP1fMMPoWktRvHAxA7k-rNxyg2MN0j1hrXjhugDAgWVbmSSiHm9/s200/Cheney.1989.90.jpg" width="146" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">school year #1: 1989-90</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Next I had my interview with the superintendent. He was conversational and pleased with my interest in basketball. Seems they'd been wanting a woman on the coaching staff for the high school. And for years that was the norm. Always had to have a female on the bench. You can read more about my coaching and teaching life at Cheney by clicking <a href="https://sites.google.com/usd268.org/harris-class-pictures/home" target="_blank">here</a> on my school website.<br />
<br />
Sup't. Don Wells also wanted me to get certified to teach speech, something that would require more college classes. This was almost a deal breaker for me. It had already taken me five years to get the degree I had because I'd changed my major my sophomore year.<br />
<br />
But I liked the small school atmosphere of Cheney, the proximity of the classrooms, the size of the town, and its closeness to Wichita where my sister Brenda lived. I agreed, that if offered the position, I would do my best to get as many hours as I could towards that speech certification.<br />
<br />
Mr. Wells wrapped up the interview by assigning me an essay. I do not remember the topic. He handed me his pen and told me to sit in his chair behind his desk. We said our goodbyes, and I was to leave when done.<br />
<br />
No other interviewer had asked me to do that. It didn't phase me a bit. I had been editor of our college newspaper for two years, so I welcomed the chance show him one of my strengths. I sure would like a copy of what I wrote. Maybe it's in my personnel file.<br />
<br />
I had not worn my typical interview outfit that day. Was I tired of it? Was it even clean? Instead, I wore a crisp white oxford type shirt and a black and white skirt. It wasn't new. And after I landed this job, my sentimental nature kept me from giving it to charity until many years later.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ3Z6Lu7Qb0uSGhGc5ENW7UYcxgdIdf0HrQT8IwzddJJjeHXrIhotbJknM9Xyv1uHeZDbtbNBG4_f67gyg2bWRJEDSUBLVqtwTbB1BWYKuduGDeGid6SkgKV9sJVr7hzwuJxYm_cPi6Ksr/s1600/Me.JulieTeresa.Cmas.1983.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1453" data-original-width="1017" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ3Z6Lu7Qb0uSGhGc5ENW7UYcxgdIdf0HrQT8IwzddJJjeHXrIhotbJknM9Xyv1uHeZDbtbNBG4_f67gyg2bWRJEDSUBLVqtwTbB1BWYKuduGDeGid6SkgKV9sJVr7hzwuJxYm_cPi6Ksr/s400/Me.JulieTeresa.Cmas.1983.jpg" width="278" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That interview outfit: me on the right. <br />
I'm with college pals Julie & Teresa in 1983.<br />
The only picture I've taken with Santa.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Afterwards, I drove around the town to check out the homes and the environment. I chuckled wondering if I could ever live here with all the dips at the intersections. You see, my car had a hook installed in the front of my car in case I ever needed to be pulled out of a ditch. Dad's South Dakota thinking.<br />
<br />
I called my sister from the payphone in the southwest corner of the Jim's Foodliner parking lot. I love telling students there used to be a payphone there.<br />
<br />
We met on the west side. I remember telling Brenda that I liked Cheney, but there was one teacher I met, a long black-haired lady, and she was quite the whipper-snapper.<br />
<br />
Yes, that was my first impression of Paula Voth. Don't worry, I told Paula this story when she retired.<br />
<br />
I began fantasizing about having an apartment in west Wichita and driving to work in Cheney. I'd be all grown-up and on my own. Making my own money. Dad would not be telling me what to do.<br />
<br />
And that could have happened because Cheney did offer me the job. And I did accept it. And I did go back to take some classes that summer at Wichita State University. Interpersonal communications and introduction to radio and television. Spending more money to make money. Isn't that the saying? But once my Cheney job started, I did not live in Wichita. Cheney became my home.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1LtMTgLyFVH0EocqNSmAXwhzvq8f2eLgVqv4klcRxdJIg_ErizhyphenhyphenoFzl5ix9NVkVT_lIxNVoiIu_55RuSNklPh6WID8QsVkYGOY5KDQeIextM7giRpqkN4X3THe8THOAncq7U13AJ7Ohb/s1600/Cheney.LandingtheJob.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1082" data-original-width="1600" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1LtMTgLyFVH0EocqNSmAXwhzvq8f2eLgVqv4klcRxdJIg_ErizhyphenhyphenoFzl5ix9NVkVT_lIxNVoiIu_55RuSNklPh6WID8QsVkYGOY5KDQeIextM7giRpqkN4X3THe8THOAncq7U13AJ7Ohb/s320/Cheney.LandingtheJob.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">in the dorm signing the teaching contract</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
In fact, I didn't even get to pick out my first apartment. Dad, Mom, and Brenda did that. They drove to Cheney during the weekend of my graduation, found me a one-bedroom apartment, and put down a deposit. They saw Wilma Brandes walking among the Jefferson Condos on 2nd Street. I learned later that she was Theo's aunt. Wilma got them in touch with Stan and Darlene Woolf who owned the unit. The rest is history.<br />
<br />
When my family came to Hillsboro on graduation day and told me this, can you imagine me being okay with that? I can't either, but I guess I was. One less thing to worry about.<br />
<br />
That's how it all began.<br />
<br />
Whenever I'm returning to Cheney from Wichita and arrive at the top of St. Joe Road, there's rarely a time I don't recall that day. The day I first drove over that hill. Thirty years ago today.<br />
<br />
It's a beautiful scene.<br />
<br />
The little town in the valley.<br />
<br />
My home.<br />
<br />Melodie Beth Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01491194906557915679noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000784900301227178.post-70978089756359023822018-09-18T20:32:00.001-05:002018-09-18T20:32:16.294-05:00A Little Girl's First YearDear Aria,<br />
<br />
You completed your first year of life today. A year of figuring out the world.<br />
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Realizing it's better to crawl on Grandma's hardwood floor by the door than walk with slippery socks. Better to fall asleep in the highchair rather than fight it. Better to watch big brother and his antics than to protest or scowl. Sometimes your gaze freezes your stocky little body until you decide to join in full force.<br />
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You're such a friendly baby. PaPaw says little old ladies in the grocery store stop and talk to you. It's that hair piece your momma puts on you. Feminizes you. But as you age, I think you'll know how to rough it up with brother Jack, because as a newborn, your little hands were in fists as if to say, "I'm ready to rumble!" As you aged, your face began to match it.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready to Rumble!</td></tr>
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When disagreements come, I think you'll be the one who'll win. Not that Jack's a wimp or anything. You just seem extra tough. Not mean. Tenacious. Not out of control emotionally. Firm. Maybe it's those gymnast thighs you already have. I picture you performing a back handspring, spinning in the air, and nailing the vault like Mary Lou Retton. Spunky. <br />
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When Jack does weird stuff (like crawling in a narrow box or wearing a weird wig), you just observe. No furrowed brow. No scowl. No hands on the hips. No eye rolling. I'm sure that'll come in time.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Bad Guys Picture</td></tr>
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I have a photo of you two sitting on my couch last winter. In it, I can see what you two will look like as senior citizens. There's something about your countenances that takes me decades ahead to a time when I'm not here. Jack refers to the picture as "the one where Aria and I are the bad guys." He can't explain to me why he thinks you guys look so tough, but he must see it too. Two people who have weathered life together.<br />
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And those times will come. It's part of being human. In the meantime, I age right along with you and sometimes find it easier to crawl than walk on sore feet. Easier to nod off for a few minutes instead of getting ready for bed. Easier to just to watch rather than join in.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0YUW9CgbNPfT2FyFFfT9ipl7byyWJQ2_ftKr3H9SjlHsQc4pWEKzAKBq5z8tYmGpN5Fvq6qk-ASEKdnWI4N7x7IVI-D9xwaYpNDaZ6QMfYlo01C0XrZQt0APhgoWfNa8PPqAO-GzrTzdG/s1600/Aria+Birthday+Melodie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1092" data-original-width="1600" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0YUW9CgbNPfT2FyFFfT9ipl7byyWJQ2_ftKr3H9SjlHsQc4pWEKzAKBq5z8tYmGpN5Fvq6qk-ASEKdnWI4N7x7IVI-D9xwaYpNDaZ6QMfYlo01C0XrZQt0APhgoWfNa8PPqAO-GzrTzdG/s320/Aria+Birthday+Melodie.jpg" width="320" /></a>But I promise, baby Aria, I'll do my best to keep moving, exercising, and eating right, so I can experience more of you learning about how to live in this big beautiful world God has us in.<br />
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Happy first birthday, my precious granddaughter.<br />
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<br />Melodie Beth Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01491194906557915679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000784900301227178.post-2156965505077974312018-06-06T19:17:00.002-05:002018-06-06T19:17:48.048-05:00What I Managed to Read in the Past Two YearsNo one probably cares what I read, but I can archive it here for reference. I'm an odd reader anyway by the looks of this list. Not a typical English teacher's library.<br />
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Seems I focused on self-help books recently. Due to my aging body, no doubt. I could look and feel worse, but my feet hurt and my tummy now houses a bulge. My Hofer-butt is bigger, hips wider, and clothes don't fit. I blame my German heritage. Thanks Mom and Dad.<br />
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But this spring, I survived my third colonoscopy and got a clean report; however, I need to go back in three years now instead of five due to the presence of a certain type of polyp. They removed 8 this time. Yikes! So those of you out there scared of getting your pooper checked out, consider this your nudge to do it. Don't wait until your 50 if you're having issues.<br />
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The procedure gave me a chance to start afresh on eating better. Family, friends, and colleagues say I mix-up a tasty and good looking salad, but what they don't know is I have a sweet tooth, so the junk has been part of my regime too. I've told myself only fish and chicken for the next two weeks. Veggies and fruits, not a problem. I like most of them. I'm at the end of week one now.<br />
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I miss beef! I miss pork! I miss ketchup. I miss chips. And I really miss chocolate! Breaking my streak. Gonna have pork chops. Does that count as white meat? I say so.<br />
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My body has an extra bone too. It's called an accessory navicular. <a href="https://www.houstonmethodist.org/orthopedics/where-does-it-hurt/foot/accessory-navicular-problems/" target="_blank">Here's</a> the medical explanation. Found out last fall I have one on my right foot, along with plantar fasciitis in both, but that's a lot better now. <a href="https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/plantar-fasciitis/symptoms-causes/syc-20354846" target="_blank">Here's</a> an article explaining that condition.<br />
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We all have a navicular bone, but I was born with this extra one that has cartilage between it and the regular bone. Somehow last July 5, 2017, mine experienced trauma, thus all my pain. So most of the fall and winter, I used our elliptical instead of doing my outdoor walking. And I'd been a walker since 1990, and I had done it religiously. Students who'd see me would say, "You looked like a homeless lady all bundled up walking your dog!" Read about that dog Lexy <a href="http://melodieharris.blogspot.com/2014/11/the-loss-of-pet.html">here</a>.<br />
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I'm certain my 20-minutes a day indoor workout didn't equal what the walking did. So why only 20? Because if I'd go a minute more, I wouldn't want to do it the next day. Twenty minutes is just enough time to watch a DVRed episode of "Bold and the Beautiful." Yes, I watch the soaps.<br />
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This accessory navicular syndrome, what they call it when you have problems with the extra bone, is supposedly rare, but I know three students who have it. One has had surgery. Two just cope.<br />
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In late April 2018, I was able to walk again without much pain. And I mean walk. All across town. I have to make sure I am not on my feet constantly though. I watch for uneven surfaces. I remind my pedicurist not to perform her karate chop massage moves.<br />
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And you don't wanna know how much money I've spent on trying to find good shoes. <a href="https://www.thewalkingcompany.com/ecco.htm?kwid=8mDhTRff_dc%7cpcrid%7c126269748800&gclid=Cj0KCQjwjN7YBRCOARIsAFCb935qHN-1a94FKRk2oexR5V4CI1k-F1G56unMHOV-QiVpbzFv3cZa1dIaAmqsEALw_wcB" target="_blank">Ecco</a> and <a href="http://www.shop-with-style.com/brands/romika/?gclid=Cj0KCQjwjN7YBRCOARIsAFCb936MvCGHcXhCs8Re8lBED9ly_CWGVXFKBGayNM5pEf12D8Zr8H861B0aAn9kEALw_wcB" target="_blank">Romika</a> work for me. <a href="https://www.asics.com/us/en-us/" target="_blank">Asics</a> sneakers too. Brooks brand hurt my knees, so I made my first Facebook marketplace sale last summer. When you see older folk wearing dress pants with weird shoes, this is why. Their feet hurt!<br />
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Anyway, that's why I've been in the shadows with this blog. That's my excuse.<br />
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Plus developing a college-credit public speaking class I was assigned to teach two years ago. Plus taking 20 graduate hours in 12 calendar months to move to the last column on the teaching salary scale (earned my masters decades ago). Plus having two grandkids in town. Plus just being lazy. I admit, it's nice to say, "I'm over 50. I'm not doing that anymore."<br />
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So, here's my hodgepodge of nearly two dozen books I've read over the last two years, from July 2016 to May 2018. Maybe there's a couple worthy of your investigation.<br />
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If you want to see my previous lists, click <a href="http://melodieharris.blogspot.com/2016/06/the-41-books-i-managed-to-read-this-year.html">here</a>, <a href="http://melodieharris.blogspot.com/2015/05/reading-journey-of-wanna-be-author-year.html">here</a>, and <a href="http://melodieharris.blogspot.com/2014/06/how-kindle-ignited-new-hobby.html">here</a>.<br />
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<ol>
<li><a href="https://www.fictiondb.com/author/amy-matayo~the-end-of-the-world~1434148~b.htm">The End of the World</a> by Amy Matayo. </li>
<li><a href="https://www.fantasticfiction.com/a/liz-adair/cold-river.htm">Cold River</a> by Liz Adair</li>
<li>Ivy & Bean, book one by <a href="http://anniebarrows.com/kids-home/ivy-bean/">Annie Burrows</a></li>
<li>Christmas for Lucy, book two by <a href="http://www.desertbreezepublishing.com/mclemore-saundra-staats/">Saundra Staats McLemore</a></li>
<li><a href="https://www.kidsreads.com/reviews/jake-and-lily">Jake & Lily</a> by Jerry Spinelli</li>
<li><a href="https://www.scholastic.com/teachers/books/my-weird-school-special-oh-valentine-we-rsquo-ve-lost-our-min/">Oh Valentine, We've Lost Our Minds</a> by Dan Gutman</li>
<li><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Confession-Serial-Killer-Untold-Dennis/dp/1611688418">Confessions of a Serial Killer: The Untold Story of Dennis Rader, the BTK Killer</a> by Katherine Rarnsland, PhD</li>
<li><a href="https://www.cathyfyock.com/the-chunky-method-of-time-management-for-writers/">The Chunky Method</a> by Allie Pleiter</li>
<li><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18965103-ripple-maker">Ripple Maker: Teaching Effectively & Loving It!</a> by Davis Laughlin</li>
<li><a href="http://bakerpublishinggroup.com/books/christmas-at-harrington-s/289631">Christmas at Harrington's</a> by Melody Carlson</li>
<li><a href="http://www.jennybjones.com/books/the-big-picture/">The Big Picture</a> by Jenny B. Jones</li>
<li><a href="http://ulyssespress.com/?books=growth-mindset-coach">The Growth Mindset Coach</a> by Annie Brock</li>
<li><a href="http://www.kidscanpress.com/products/jasper-john-dooley-star-week">Jasper John Dooley: Star of the Week</a> by Caroline Adderson</li>
<li><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Clueless-Girls-Guide-Being-Genius/dp/0142421030">The Clueless Girls Guide to Being a Genius</a> by Jania Repka</li>
<li><a href="https://www.publishersweekly.com/978-0-688-16719-6">The Frogs Wore Red Suspenders</a> by Jack Prelutsky</li>
<li><a href="https://wonderthebook.com/books/wonder">Wonder</a> by RJ Palacio</li>
<li><a href="https://www.theguardian.com/childrens-books-site/2015/nov/29/auggie-and-me-r-j-palacio-review">Augie & Me</a> by RJ Palacio</li>
<li><a href="http://www.lyndamullalyhunt.com/books/fish-in-a-tree/">Fish in a Tree</a> by Lynda Mullaly Hunt</li>
<li><a href="http://www.jennybjones.com/2014/09/22/cant-let-you-go/">Can't Let You Go</a> by Jenny B. Jones</li>
<li><a href="https://www.amazon.com/What-Must-About-Thyroid-Disorders/dp/0757004245">Thyroid Disorders & What to do About Them</a> by Pamela Wartian Smith, MD</li>
<li><a href="https://www.publishersweekly.com/978-0-7570-0312-7">Why You can't Lose Weight</a> by Pamela Wartian Smith, MD</li>
<li><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35565999-mayo-clinic-diet">Mayo Clinic Diet: Rapid Weight Loss Solution</a> by Paula Sawyer</li>
<li><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Mayo-Clinic-Diet-Diabetes-cookbook-ebook/dp/B078HHCZ59">Mayo Clinic Diet: Eat What You were Meant To</a> by Storm Wayne</li>
</ol>
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<br />Melodie Beth Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01491194906557915679noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000784900301227178.post-88284583474800936862017-10-07T22:32:00.002-05:002017-10-07T22:32:39.265-05:00Memories Move on Down the Road<div class="MsoNormal">
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Said goodbye to my car of 18. Imagine. 18 years. <o:p></o:p></div>
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She was an Oldsmobile Alero. Got her in 1999 from Conklin Cars. I put all but nine of the Alero’s 142,301 miles on
her. Bought her from a guy named Jason, and before the deal was made, he
got mad and threw the folder of papers at me. See, my dad was
wheeling and dealing with him over the phone. Dickering him down in the price.
He loves to do that, and he ticked the salesman off. Regarding car buying, Dad always said, “Gotta push ’em
far enough until they say they have to talk to the manager.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTvH8V7L38HOrbeb7sC5Y1J4hiAIsSpyeQQ9U_LuyQ5x8Y2hDhc7Gr1iwEkVyMkBZvHMFA03ZTLsE5jmCY4fUBzucBviw-eFC63X2qL6Ndoncist9hGzedxpRwEF530VEkh5AK1QQJGppY/s1600/drivers_door.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTvH8V7L38HOrbeb7sC5Y1J4hiAIsSpyeQQ9U_LuyQ5x8Y2hDhc7Gr1iwEkVyMkBZvHMFA03ZTLsE5jmCY4fUBzucBviw-eFC63X2qL6Ndoncist9hGzedxpRwEF530VEkh5AK1QQJGppY/s320/drivers_door.JPG" width="320" /></a>The Alero was an upgrade from my first car. Electric windows, a sun roof, and not just a cassette player, a CD one too. But right away, she had a few problems. The fuse box
kept burning out certain fuses. I drove a few loaner cars from Conklin before they finally
connected rain, the sunroof, and the fuse box to the problem. It was leaking
from the roof. <o:p></o:p>I wrote about her problems <a href="http://melodieharris.blogspot.com/2014/09/alero-sweet-lemon.html" target="_blank">here</a> in "Alero, the Sweet Lemon" back in 2014.<br />
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Within two years, I got hit on the way to school. A distracted teen made
a right hand turn and hit the driver's side back door. All the students outside the middle
school that morning saw the accident happen. When I called my insurance guy, the first thing he asked was if I was okay. And I was. To see a picture of the damage click <a href="http://melodieharris.blogspot.com/2014/08/an-out-pore-ing-of-appreciation.html" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
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The Alero was never the same
after that. The new back door just didn’t seal right, and the paint job
didn’t match very well. Thus began my life of driving the rat trap, or what I more affectionately
called her, my tin can.</div>
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Another accident occurred when I rear-ended
a little red pick-up. That was a costly fix. Wanna know what distracted me? Split ends and
man problems. That’s all I’m gonna say.<o:p></o:p><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRYvl5XkrMW7pz9JAmgJ13xWTQYQE52APgP5llRcdBHrA8wEsrMXST3TBYYfwHJvdwALZUyKqiXneIoGj7Wn40j86VUBKqWWZNMQK30SwaaAL59osW6sxU39AEnA4BIiY3BhLlR9vWfTIA/s1600/Me_Alero_1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRYvl5XkrMW7pz9JAmgJ13xWTQYQE52APgP5llRcdBHrA8wEsrMXST3TBYYfwHJvdwALZUyKqiXneIoGj7Wn40j86VUBKqWWZNMQK30SwaaAL59osW6sxU39AEnA4BIiY3BhLlR9vWfTIA/s320/Me_Alero_1.JPG" width="320" /></a>Despite these two fender benders, the Alero kept me safe on
strange roads a few summers back, but it was after that
trip, that I became a kept woman and needed to be driven anywhere new. I’m
serious. I am a real-life Miss Daisy, only my driver isn’t Morgan Freeman, it’s
Chris Harris, my husband. That trip really did me in. Read about it <a href="http://melodieharris.blogspot.com/2014/06/on-road-againalone.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</div>
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I’ll blame my anxiety on Garmin too, the GPS system that my
husband idolized when it first came out. One time, that stupid thing took me 30 miles
east of McPherson instead of to Inman to Cousin Kris’ house.<br />
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The most embarrassing thing with the car though was an
incident at Elaine Gerber’s, my hair dresser. Read about that <a href="http://melodieharris.blogspot.com/2014/09/down-in-dip.html" target="_blank">here</a>. The poor
car still has the scars.</div>
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After nearly two decades, the Alero doesn’t look too whoopy anymore up close, but she’s been well taken care of. Last year, Chris bought her new
headlights. My best friend's husband, Joe Shellmanner, makes sure the air conditioning works. She’s had only Goodyear Eagle Brand tires; my dad insisted on those expensive things. She's had a few sets. <o:p></o:p><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc9n5L5wYb3kH94H12HgLUdHIfTPV3Byf2wlbqotyxVI5jid2OYONvQ__ASTYR0gQqwu-pZ83qbABc15IkDjWa52fF3YeMANx68rTKZa9ezLMwmYQI6nfY8R8KZa4Nvgw3KA7QZYfM0p1h/s1600/IMG_5508.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc9n5L5wYb3kH94H12HgLUdHIfTPV3Byf2wlbqotyxVI5jid2OYONvQ__ASTYR0gQqwu-pZ83qbABc15IkDjWa52fF3YeMANx68rTKZa9ezLMwmYQI6nfY8R8KZa4Nvgw3KA7QZYfM0p1h/s320/IMG_5508.JPG" width="240" /></a>Some say never buy new, and if you do, trade it in a few
years. That wasn’t us, the Alero and me. We remained together from 1999 to 2017. I’d
planned to drive her for at least 20 years, just to say I did it. But
my sister Brenda and her husband gifted me with a car, so I’m paying it forward and gifting the Alero
to a co-worker of my husband’s. It feels good to know someone will appreciate her, but I’m
glad I won’t see her around. </div>
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She was my car.<br />
My gal.<br />
She knows all my secrets.<br />
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And today, after 18 years of memories, she drove off with a new owner.<br />
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Melodie Beth Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01491194906557915679noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000784900301227178.post-15053923765169679282017-09-14T21:11:00.003-05:002017-09-14T21:11:38.914-05:00Pending Aria's ArrivalA few days from now, you will be here. Among us.<br />
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With Jack. Your big brother.<br />
He'll be your playmate. Your teacher. Your defender. Your bulwark.<br />
<br />
He's been talking to you at your momma's belly. Have you heard him? <br />
He's prepared for you. Been whispering your name then slipping out a smile.<br />
He's become independent so mommy and daddy can tend to you.<br />
He's potty trained. Eats an ice cream cone. And sleeps in a big boy bed.<br />
He loves going to the library, the park, and Grandma's house.<br />
He enjoys the yard, the butterflies, and the fishies in Grandpa's pond.<br />
<br />
There isn't a person he meets that he doesn't want to know.<br />
But knowing you will change his life forever.<br />
Your presence will give him a playmate, a sister, and a friend.<br />
<br />
Knowing Jack for over two years now has bettered my life.<br />
And you, Aria, will do the same in your own way.<br />
<br />
We're already off to a good start because<br />
We have something in common.<br />
<br />
Our musical names.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Writer's Note: Want to read my thoughts before Jack was born? Click <a href="http://melodieharris.blogspot.com/2016/04/letters-to-baby.html" target="_blank">here</a> where I reminisce when he turned one.</i><br />
<br />Melodie Beth Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01491194906557915679noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000784900301227178.post-70232087774593239422016-06-07T22:57:00.000-05:002016-06-07T23:05:25.920-05:00The 41 Books I Managed to Read This YearSeems my writing aspirations have taken a backseat to the family life I never thought I'd have. And I've been enjoying every bit of it. A husband whose company I enjoy. A grandson I will drop everything for. And two doggies who are always by my side.<br />
<br />
I have a full-time job that often comes home with me. Yes, even in the summer, I'm writing lesson plans. And education is changing at a rate that I've never seen before. I'm not sure I even understand what is happening. I feel like an old time teacher, a bit out of touch.<br />
<br />
But I am trying. Trying to tweet. Trying Instagram. Making those connections with educators from all over America and connecting with the students I teach. When I whipped out my new cell phone to snap pictures with it in class and the kids noticed, I felt a little more with it.<br />
<br />
I'm in year number three with my Kindle, and I'm still loving it. But like others, I complained when the Silk Browser update locked me out of my downloaded documents for a couple months. I still had the e-books though, and most of the books I read this year were from my small town public library.<br />
<br />
I read a lot of chapter books and middle grade books. I am fascinated with the authors who can develop a character and just keep going with it. How I long for the inspiration and gumption to get my character all figured out.<br />
<br />
It feels like a pipe dream now, something that's beyond someday. But a girl can still dream. She just has to act on it--probably with more baby steps than the giant ones she started off with.<br />
<br />
What I read from May 2015 to June 2016<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Creepy-Sleep-Over-Cul-Sac-Kids/dp/155661988X" target="_blank">The Creepy Sleepover</a> by Beverly Lewis</li>
<li><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18466370-walking-to-lose-weight-a-12-week-walking-workout-plan---the-exact-plan" target="_blank">Walking to Lose Weight</a> by Susan Campbell</li>
<li><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Past-Forward-Serial-Novel-Episode-ebook/dp/B008HHSW0S" target="_blank">Past Forward Book 1</a> by Chautona Havig</li>
<li><a href="http://juniebjones.com/books/jbj-1stupid-smelly-uabdn" target="_blank">Junie B. Jones and the Stupid Smelly Bus</a> by Barbara Park</li>
<li><a href="https://www.kmweiland.com/book/outlining-your-novel/" target="_blank">Outlining Your Novel</a> by KM Weiland</li>
<li><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1167.Junie_B_Jones_and_a_Little_Monkey_Business" target="_blank">Junie B. Jones and a Little Monkey Business</a> by Barbara Park</li>
<li><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/junie-b-first-grader-barbara-park/1100009747" target="_blank">Junie B. Jones: 1st Graders at Last</a> by Barbara Park</li>
<li><a href="http://www.scholastic.com/teachers/book/junie-b-first-grader-aloha-ha-ha#cart/cleanup" target="_blank">Junie B. Jones 1st Grader Aloha-la-la!</a> by Barbara Park</li>
<li><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Outlining-Novel-Workbook-Step-Step-ebook/dp/B00P72KQI2" target="_blank">Outlining Your Novel Workbook</a> by KM Weiland</li>
<li><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Anastasia-Krupnik-Lois-Lowry-ebook/dp/B003JFJHRA/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1465352987&sr=1-1&keywords=Anastasia+by+Lois+Lowry" target="_blank">Anastasia Krupnik</a> by Lois Lowry</li>
<li><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/my-path-to-obedience-janet-fowler/1105798949" target="_blank">My Path to Obedience</a> by Janet Fowler</li>
<li><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Anastasia-Again-Krupnik-Book-ebook/dp/B003JFJHT8?ie=UTF8&qid=&ref_=tmm_kin_title_0&sr=" target="_blank">Anastasia Again</a> by Lois Lowry</li>
<li><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Magic-Carpet-Ride-Rich-Simmons-ebook/dp/B0106J2JSA/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1465353240&sr=1-1&keywords=Magic+Carpet+Ride+by+Rich+Simmons" target="_blank">Magic Carpet Ride</a> by Rich Simmons</li>
<li><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dork-Diaries-Tales-Not-So-Fabulous-Life/dp/1416980067" target="_blank">Dork Diaries: Tales from a Not-so-Fabulous Life</a> by Rachel Renee Russell</li>
<li><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/632544.Horrible_Harry_in_Room_2B" target="_blank">Horrible Harry in Room 2B</a> by Suzy Kline</li>
<li><a href="http://www.publishersweekly.com/978-0-670-82468-7" target="_blank">Horrible harry and the Green Slime</a> by Suzy Kline</li>
<li><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Horrible-Harry-Invasion-Suzy-Kline-ebook/dp/B002C7Z50Y?ie=UTF8&qid=&ref_=tmm_kin_swatch_0&sr=" target="_blank">Horrible Harry and the Ant Invasion</a> by Suzy Kline</li>
<li><a href="http://www.publishersweekly.com/978-0-15-200843-7" target="_blank">The Van Gogh Cafe</a> by Cynthia Rylant</li>
<li><a href="http://books.simonandschuster.com/Heidi-Heckelbeck-Says-Cheese!/Wanda-Coven/Heidi-Heckelbeck/9781481423274" target="_blank">Heidi Hecklebeck Say "Cheese"</a> by Wanda Coven</li>
<li><a href="https://www.kirkusreviews.com/book-reviews/wanda-coven/heidi-heckelbeck-and-cookie-contest/" target="_blank">Heidi Hecklebeck and the Cookie Contest</a> by Wanda Coven</li>
<li><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Judy-Moody-Famous-Megan-McDonald/dp/0763648531" target="_blank">Judy Moody Gets Famous</a> by Megan McDonald</li>
<li><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2014/05/11/books/review/ava-and-pip-by-carol-weston.html?_r=0" target="_blank">Ava and Pip</a> by Carol Weston</li>
<li><a href="http://www.carolweston.com/ava-series/" target="_blank">Ava and Taco Cat</a> by Carol Weston</li>
<li><a href="http://www.scholastic.com/teachers/book/miss-daisy-crazy#cart/cleanup" target="_blank">Miss Daisy is Crazy</a> by Dan Gutman</li>
<li><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/11077454-mr-harrison-is-embarrassin" target="_blank">Mrs. Harrison is Embarrasin'</a> by Dan Gutman</li>
<li><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/mrs-lilly-is-silly-dan-gutman/1111571984" target="_blank">Mrs. Lilly is Silly</a> by Dan Gutman</li>
<li><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23492612-crazy-little-thing-called-love" target="_blank">A Crazy little Thing Called Love</a> by Beth K. Vogt</li>
<li><a href="https://www.amazon.com/JULIA-JONES-Worst-Diary-Girls-ebook/dp/B00JR9YXIU" target="_blank">Julia Jones' Diary: My Worst Day Ever</a> by Katrina Kohler</li>
<li><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/my-mother-got-married-barbara-park/1003138887" target="_blank">My Mother Got Married (and other disasters)</a> by Barbara Park</li>
<li><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Teachers-Pet-Johanna-Hurwitz-ebook/dp/B00MNTCIYC/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1465353574&sr=1-2&keywords=Teacher%27s+Pet+by+Johanna+Hurwitz" target="_blank">Teacher's Pet</a> by Johanna Hurwitz</li>
<li><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Elisa-Michaels-Bigger-Better-Riverside/dp/0060096012?ie=UTF8&keywords=Elisa%20Michaels%2C%20Bigger%20%26%20Better%20by%20Johanna%20Hurwitz&qid=1465353621&ref_=sr_1_1&s=books&sr=1-1" target="_blank">Elisa Michaels, Bigger & Better </a>by Johanna Hurwitz</li>
<li><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/251774.Muggie_Maggie" target="_blank">Muggie Maggie</a> by Beverly Cleary</li>
<li><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/91245.Ramona_s_World" target="_blank">Ramona's World</a> by Beverly Cleary</li>
<li><a href="https://bookpage.com/reviews/6825-gary-paulsen-liar-liar#.V1eF9fkrLNI" target="_blank">Liar, Liar</a> by Gary Paulsen</li>
<li><a href="http://www.kidsreads.com/reviews/flat-broke-the-theory-practice-and-destructive-properties-of-greed" target="_blank">Flat Broke </a>by Gary Paulsen</li>
<li><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Vote-Gary-Paulsen/dp/0385742282" target="_blank">Vote</a> by Gary Paulsen</li>
<li><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Writing-SHORT-STORIES-Magazines-Publications-ebook/dp/B00U3DW6S8" target="_blank">Writing Short Stories for Amazon, Magazine and Other Publications</a> by Ora Rosalin and Bey Rosalian</li>
<li><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/24819554-the-league-of-unexceptional-children" target="_blank">The League of Unexceptional Children</a> by Gitty Daneshvari</li>
<li><a href="http://www.kidsreads.com/reviews/family-ties" target="_blank">Family Ties</a> by Gary Paulsen</li>
<li><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Crippled-America-Make-Great-Again/dp/1501137964" target="_blank">Crippled America: How to Make America Great Again</a> by Donald J. Trump</li>
<li><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Anastasia-Off-Rocker-Krupnik-story/dp/0544439597" target="_blank">Anastasia Off Her Rocker</a> by Lois Lowry</li>
</ol>
Melodie Beth Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01491194906557915679noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000784900301227178.post-75172544669047613952016-05-05T20:31:00.001-05:002016-05-05T20:31:17.665-05:00Accolades To My Third Grade Teacher<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My third grade teacher, Mrs. Esther Gilchrist, was picky about manners. We had personal hygiene checks. She checked our fingernails once a week and required us to fill out a chart about brushing our teeth. I think I lied on it.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">If anyone’s finger got close to their nose, Mrs. Gilchrist would say the student’s name, tap her nose, shake her head, and say, “No-no.” </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Only a certain number of people could be walking around the room at a time. If we were in the library area, we squatted down. That way someone else could get up to turn in a paper or go the mathematics table. At times we looked like a bunch of Jack in the Boxes when she was busy with a reading group.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Why were we walking around during class anyway? Now that I think of it, Mrs. Gilchrist trusted us. She gave us a lot of freedom for being 8-year-olds. Here’s a rundown.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhebot1BtwtXVY5rmwNiyZFn8ZxO5WN42qGBHU5dn8vWxBY6chqtJFBEruABUaesSTkp4gwiQ6UaeDol-LREDcP-gNkNIwhDc67_Ie6k2ogkXsnV8Wqsyb6VMbPds2B_UIMcOEpST6QFEjR/s1600/Hitchcock.1974.75.age8.grade3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhebot1BtwtXVY5rmwNiyZFn8ZxO5WN42qGBHU5dn8vWxBY6chqtJFBEruABUaesSTkp4gwiQ6UaeDol-LREDcP-gNkNIwhDc67_Ie6k2ogkXsnV8Wqsyb6VMbPds2B_UIMcOEpST6QFEjR/s320/Hitchcock.1974.75.age8.grade3.jpg" width="224" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, in 3rd grade. I look ornery.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">During work time, if we had to go to the restroom, I don't remember having to ask her—maybe because she was busy with a reading group. We signed a piece of paper taped to the back of her desk. I think we missed part of recess then.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We never ever sat in rows. Our desks were arranged in teams of four or six. Facing each other. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Nobody sat in teams in 1975!<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span>Mrs. Gilchrist was before her time. I love that.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In the fall, our desks <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">were arranged<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> in</span></span> a big square around a huge map of the town. I accidentally spilled milk on it during our cracker and milk break.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Mrs. Gilchrist was so gracious to me. I ruined part of it, but she knew I didn't do it on purpose. I don't remember if she let me have my snack at my desk anymore—wouldn't blame her if she placed me off to the side.<br /><br />That map confused me too because I didn't know Hitchcock. I was a farm kid who’d never walked the streets of the town. I had a vague idea what a block was, but when we went to collect leaves, I was rather intimidated—my classmates seemed to know exactly where they were going, but I didn’t.<br /><br />Up near the front of Mrs. Gilchrist’s classroom was a long table with a few record players and headphones. We'd listen to multiplication songs. We worked at our own pace memorizing and then quizzed out when we were ready to move on. Individual learning plan of sorts, I’d say—in the 70s, mind you—in rural South Dakota.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Like I said, Mrs. Gilchrist was ahead of her time.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimk512XCRDaCRcOiMZQdmIcHMpXVJHgf-4LxU2MFcD6BjyP1jUQOj4IFW-AJQ0-o5lPRyEAn_DLIwr5GJ7EYikOERsgwQhp8guy47i7sWLANkJMWj6eKkRWluZ4UJTiGI7WWPEoyQojJvT/s1600/3rdGradePic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimk512XCRDaCRcOiMZQdmIcHMpXVJHgf-4LxU2MFcD6BjyP1jUQOj4IFW-AJQ0-o5lPRyEAn_DLIwr5GJ7EYikOERsgwQhp8guy47i7sWLANkJMWj6eKkRWluZ4UJTiGI7WWPEoyQojJvT/s320/3rdGradePic.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Class of 1984 as 3rd graders at Hitchcock Elementary</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It was in third grade math that I learned a trick. For 8+7 equaling 15, she taught us to think 7+7=14 +1 equals 15. To this day, that is how I figure out 8+7. I do a similar thing with 8+9. Those two answers aren't automatic for me. I do that trick every time when I’m adding in my head. Wonder if anyone else from the Class of 1984 does that.</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In 1974-75 school year, our classroom teachers also taught physical education. Mrs. Gilchrist had two long poles that we’d hold six to eight inches off the floor and then snap together in various rhythms that she taught us. Another set of students would do some sort of hopping maneuver through the poles.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I don't remember her demonstrating this, for she was an elegant lady who reminded me of Mrs. Howell on "Gilligan's Island," but she must have shown us. YouTube didn’t exist and a reeled movie was treat.<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">T</span>his was the year we started going to the multi-purpose room for music. That’s where I took clarinet lessons a few years later from Mr. Wiens—read about the time he showed up at my house by clicking <a href="http://melodieharris.blogspot.com/2014/10/hootin-n-tootin.html" target="_blank">here</a>. This was the huge room where Mrs. Gilchrist taught us to square dance.<br /><br />Growing up Mennonite Brethren, we didn't dance, but Mom and Dad had no problem with me learning to square dance. I’d secretly hoped they'd say I couldn't do it, for we had to dance with the boys. Wasn't quite my thing—even though third grade was the year I married Jeff Waldner out by the cottonwood trees at recess. Anybody else have a grade school marriage?<br /><br />Had you asked me as a child or a high school student if Mrs. Gilchrist was one of my favorite teachers, I’d have said, “No way!” She was too prim and proper. Too picky. Too lady-like. Too soft-spoken. Yes, I prefer boisterous teachers. Does that surprise anyone?<br /><br />But now as an adult and a teacher myself, I see her in a more positive light. She had a way of engaging us in the course work. She insisted on neatness and order. She certainly knew her subject matter and beyond. She presented lessons with a mixture of traditional paper/pencil, hands-on activities, and technology. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Maybe I am kind of like her. Minus the prim and proper because I teach middle school—we are far from proper.</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Because of Mrs. Gilchrist, I know the four food groups (<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">this was before the food pyramid) </span>which we charted on the chalkboard each day after noon recess.<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span>I know my cardinal directions, can write in cursive (although it sloppy now), and can function within a group. I understand arithmetic but am still waiting for the metric system to be fully adopted into American society like she said it would. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP0jb-1ynoTki_r6Yehj4n6irrVz5JaR4VE6AyOHtWmfKZx_Ljn_wf-DSPQK8xklYb4L7EbBcEYRLTFlZ3c6OHCr38u6gJP94XMTIJmdahrSpZxrsVSySVqu6em_3WR2zn9d0290mx4eBv/s1600/Mrs.Gilchrist.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP0jb-1ynoTki_r6Yehj4n6irrVz5JaR4VE6AyOHtWmfKZx_Ljn_wf-DSPQK8xklYb4L7EbBcEYRLTFlZ3c6OHCr38u6gJP94XMTIJmdahrSpZxrsVSySVqu6em_3WR2zn9d0290mx4eBv/s320/Mrs.Gilchrist.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mrs. Gilchrist</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I look at her picture now, the one she gave me when I was her student. I see a pretty lady. Hair just so, straight teeth, lovely clothing, and hardly any make-up. She really was a beauty. Just as beautiful on the inside too in the way she dealt with me. <br /><br />May she somehow know that this little girl really is sorry for writing Todd Tollefson a note asking him if he farted. I was pulled in the hallway and told, “Young ladies don’t talk like that. I’m really disappointed in you, Melodie.”<br /><br />She had every right to call me out on that.<br /><br />It’s a good thing though, that she didn’t see me place my hand flat on my desk and bend under all my fingers but one. Third grade was the year I figured out what the middle finger meant. I may not have been able to maneuver a city block, but I knew what the cows and the bulls were doing on the farm. I made the connection one day to the middle finger and realized it all.<br /><br />Stunned. Grossed out. Looked at adults in a completely different way. Didn’t like that I knew that. I probably asked my best friend Gail, two years older, if I was right. Read more about Gail <a href="http://melodieharris.blogspot.com/2015/09/a-bus-ride-friendship-endures-test-of.html" target="_blank">here</a>.<br /><br />This was also the year that Gail and I, along with the high school girls we copied, got in trouble for writing on the school bus seats—in ink pen. Mrs. Gilchrist never said a word to me about it. She must have known I was already embarrassed when Superintendent Dale Schneider called me out of her class one morning to go scrub the seats with Comet. Read more about Mr. Schneider by clicking <a href="http://melodieharris.blogspot.com/2015/09/kindergarten-registration-fearful-memory.html" target="_blank">here</a>.<br /><br />Third grade was a lot of firsts. I got glasses, started piano lessons, and was allowed to spend the night at a friend’s house. I got my own Bible too. Looks like I needed that considering my fart-word use (my dad still forbids the use of that word; read <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">where I learned the <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">word</span></span> <a href="http://melodieharris.blogspot.com/2014/06/curlers-bra-and-airplane-ride.html" target="_blank">here</a>), vandalism, and discovery of the meaning of the f-word.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Thank you<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">, Mrs. <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Gilchrist, for being one of the many who molded me<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /><br /><b><span style="font-size: large;">Which teacher was in your life during your biggest times of discovery and mischief? What educator have you changed your mind about as the years have passed? </span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></span>Melodie Beth Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01491194906557915679noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000784900301227178.post-60758789017181880522016-04-13T21:45:00.001-05:002016-04-19T06:26:41.884-05:00Letters to a Baby<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhae5CrTmgBdijZ2ofEf8nrt-yV9WDqZqsYNQ3ZeUjRZA4a3wW9joQVtfR1NhF2sZI3GXsLCLa4B23ueDHscN5BvNqY-YxzHeqVX7Qiz1bJmGbQXZuVvvAXTkz3kEwedE_ekPKMcGHXxdFl/s1600/062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhae5CrTmgBdijZ2ofEf8nrt-yV9WDqZqsYNQ3ZeUjRZA4a3wW9joQVtfR1NhF2sZI3GXsLCLa4B23ueDHscN5BvNqY-YxzHeqVX7Qiz1bJmGbQXZuVvvAXTkz3kEwedE_ekPKMcGHXxdFl/s200/062.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Our grandson turned one-year-old today. This past year, I kept a journal as though I was writing to him. Here are a few </i></span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>excerpts from it<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">. Most are from before he was born.</span></i></span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>8.15.14.</b> Today I heard
about you for the first time. A little baby. A baby. Brittany is barely not one
herself at 20-years-old. I think her dad, your grandpa who is my husband, got
teary-eyed after she told us. He was pretty quiet. Worrying. I wonder how you
will change our lives. Will we get to see you often? Will we spoil you? Will we
get alone time with you? I have mixed emotions, it seems. I look forward to
being in your life, yet I’m afraid that I won’t be in it much. Oh, how I
already love you, and I just heard about you. I was only in your momma’s life
for six years before she left for college, and so much has changed since then.
Oh little baby, I pray for your soul.</span></span>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>8.27.14. </b>A week ago today
we found out you were for real. Doctor said so and Bee called her dad. I am
excited. I really am. I think it will be neat seeing your firsts. I wonder if
you are a boy or a girl. We'll probably know because if Bee wants to know—she
won’t be able to not tell. I pray for your soul, little one, that some day
you’ll understand your purpose in Christ. I haven’t even met you, and I love
you.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>9.17.14.</b>
Your momma told the world about you today on Facebook. She must be
excited. She sure gobbled down the food when we took her out to eat on Sunday.
Your daddy <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">was watching </span>football with his family. I got to meet your daddy's mom and his sisters and some others. It's a full house. I think you will be well-loved there. You
were at the doctor today with your momma, and I guess you’re okay in there
since she announced it.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>9.27.14.</b> Oh, little baby,
your parents got married today at the Keeper of Plains in Wichita, Kansas at 3
pm. I hope you know you are loved. I hope you bring your mom around here more
often.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>11.13.14. </b>I know your
name. Jack Von. You are a boy. A grandson. Saw pictures of you today. Your
momma posted sonogram photos on Facebook. She called your grandpa too. Jack Von
Schmidt. Such a neat name. I bet you’ll be an interesting person. A deep
thinker. Your mommy really loves your daddy<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">.</span> I think that’s important. I hope
you see that. But more importantly, I hope you love Christ. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>11.17.14.</b> Oh Little Jack
Von, your momma came out for a visit today. She told us something might be
wrong. Weird stuff showed up on your sonogram that could lead to extra
chromosomes. You may be a special needs little fella. We love you all the same.
God is making you the way He wants you to be for His reasons.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>2.21.15.</b> Baby shower
tonight for you, Jack Von. Your mommy got lots of nice things. Glad your Great
Aunt Brenda took the time to meet me and come as we’d planned—even though the
time had changed. Wonder if I’ll get to be a part of your life. So ready to
meet you, learn to know you, learn to have fun with you, watch you grow and
become.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>4.13.15. </b>Today you were
born. I met you, Jack Von Schmidt. I’ve never been around a baby only a few
hours old. It was really something. Seeing you get all that love from both
sides of the family. You, little one, just might be the tie that binds. I hope
I really get to be a grandma to you. I love you, little guy. Just love you. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>8.2.15.</b> You, little baby,
have brought Brittany home. Home to Cheney. She and your daddy Nathaniel have
moved here for the time being. Today your mommy became a full-fledged adult.
She turned 21. Had someone told me two years ago that she would want to be here
with us calmly celebrating her birthday, I wouldn’t have believed it. God seems
to be using you to bring the family back together. Tonight your bio grandma, Grandma
Danita, and your Great Grandparents were all here. It was just like it was when
your mommy was growing up. I spent all Sunday afternoon preparing your mommy’s
favorites: pineapple ham and twice-baked potatoes. It was a labor of love, and
I enjoyed every minute of it. Tonight I held you in front of our bedroom mirror
and talked to you about the things on the little shelf nearby: the doggie
figurines, pictures, a crystal heart, the cross symbol, the courageous Cameron
bracelet. That's for your second cousin who fought lymphoma cancer and won.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKXqggbpWEoiWfNmiV8bpf5JZfoNWEr2X-Djbt1Io2OteVdADmoFSjvdNouvBBnjZoWgE4Vc-nka6zf4vpY0c3qszSahsMg2pZJut5zLkY8DvYBcnXMuAZUvywhQ2ZLyJVsk1ciPhvUcY4/s1600/Melodie+Jack+Birthday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKXqggbpWEoiWfNmiV8bpf5JZfoNWEr2X-Djbt1Io2OteVdADmoFSjvdNouvBBnjZoWgE4Vc-nka6zf4vpY0c3qszSahsMg2pZJut5zLkY8DvYBcnXMuAZUvywhQ2ZLyJVsk1ciPhvUcY4/s320/Melodie+Jack+Birthday.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>8.13.15. </b>It is the day
before I report to work, teaching school for the twenty-seventh year. Your
momma called. <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She asked <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">me to</span></span> watch you this afternoon while she goes to work. This is
the first time we’ll be all alone together. Just you, me, and the doggies in my
house. My first reaction was yikes, for I haven’t baby sat much. But your mommy
said, “I know you won’t neglect him.” It means the world to me that she has
allowed us into her life with you and your daddy. For that, I am blessed and
thankful. May you and me love each other—always and forever.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>4.1<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">3</span>.16.</b> It's your birthday, little fella. You're a year old. Already.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Words escape me now.</span></span><br />
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</span></span>Melodie Beth Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01491194906557915679noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000784900301227178.post-2425599738272609022016-03-12T22:07:00.001-06:002016-03-12T22:07:12.870-06:00Tic Tac Toe, Show What You Know<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqvei34Rj3xENDwe2lgyAC1ahx7i9Vj2MlF4Wjo44s_RysLXKm0YQN3qHgCQ5FHGB5IhF-FK4CV6_w61mt9_OGKR4xobNX5odnH_qAlimONHp8sPacQ-yvwkdJJjPjakuuusMxCcYs3aTU/s1600/121.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqvei34Rj3xENDwe2lgyAC1ahx7i9Vj2MlF4Wjo44s_RysLXKm0YQN3qHgCQ5FHGB5IhF-FK4CV6_w61mt9_OGKR4xobNX5odnH_qAlimONHp8sPacQ-yvwkdJJjPjakuuusMxCcYs3aTU/s320/121.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I am guest blogging at <i><a href="http://aviewoftheweb.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">A View of the Web</a></i> this week.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It’s
an educational blog by Jill Weber, my colleague and friend for nearly a decade.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I'm honor<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">ed tha<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">t <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">my first gu<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">est post is on her site, a pl<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">ace wher<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">e <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Jill</span> shares great ideas a<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">nd student work.<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> She <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">inspires me.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And if you read some of her other<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> posts, you'll see how education has <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">changed since you went to school. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">This is our world:<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span>middle school kids<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">, middle school content, i<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">n the middle of America<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">.</span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Click <a href="http://aviewoftheweb.blogspot.com/2016/03/tic-tac-toe-show-what-you-know.html" target="_blank">here</a> to read the post, <a href="http://aviewoftheweb.blogspot.com/2016/03/tic-tac-toe-show-what-you-know.html" target="_blank">Tic Tac Toe, Show What You Know</a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
Melodie Beth Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01491194906557915679noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000784900301227178.post-79838967474227091932016-03-06T19:43:00.000-06:002016-03-06T19:43:13.548-06:00Someone Who Fed My Spirit<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The head chef at our school has been around since I started
teaching back when the j<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">u<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">nior</span></span> high had last lunch in the fall of 1989.
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">School budgets were different, and so were the requirements
put on the lunch tray. There was always plenty of food. I was single and
coaching high school basketball, so school lunch was the one hot meal I got a
day<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span>besides Sundays at my sister's.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I knew how to cook, but I didn't deem it necessary for just
me. At home, I ate a lot of Cheerios and toasted Cheeze Whiz sandwiches. My
favorite after school treat had become my adult evening meal.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">One woman though, made sure I didn't go hungry. Charlene
Lyons, our cafeteria lady.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Back when the government let them serve cake, Charlene
always hid away an extra piece for me. I think she'd do this even when we had
leftovers.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"Got somethin' for you, Hofer," she'd whisper
before I'd go sit down with my cohorts.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">This was back in the day when teachers had to supervise the
lunch room. Thanks to the Supreme Court of the United States, we get a whopping
20 minute-duty free lunch now. Just enough time to check your email, go to the
bathroom, microwave a meal, and scarf it down.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Here's another memory involving her.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">One year, Charlene and her daughter were part of my
"It's All Relative" game show that I organized for the middle school
talent show. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Any district staff member with a middle school child or
grandchild could be in the show. Modeled after "The Newlywed Game"
from the 1970s, questions were asked of one relative while the other was out of
the room and vi<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">ce</span> versa. <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Art <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">teacher</span></span> Michaeline Kohler<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">helped me <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">c</span>ome up with the title.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Charlene was up there with daughter Alisha or Amber, who ironically,
had just performed a trio or duet that day as her talent. The "It's All
Relative" game was close, and it came down to this question: What was your
most embarrassing moment? </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">This mother and daughter's answers matched. Charlene had
answered first, so when <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">her<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> daughter</span></span> was brought out and she heard the question, her face
turned red and she took a big breath. She said, "Forgetting the words to
the song today." The crowd roared. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">What had mortified a young soul on stage redeemed her
minutes later because her mom knew her well and had the guts to say so. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">That's the way Charlene is. She tells it like it is. I admire
that.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Charlene had a milestone birthday this weekend, the big 6-0.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I'd started this post last fall <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">during </span>cafeteria appreciation week,
but life interrupted me and I didn't get it done. When I saw it was Charlene's
birthday, I knew this was the time to post it.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">What a beautiful woman with a great heart. Thanks, Charlene,
for the many years your spirit has fed mine when our paths have crossed.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">You made a young woman fe<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">el welcome into the life of small-town teach<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">ing</span>.</span> </span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Who was the one who helped you transition into a new situation? Share memories of your cafeteria lady. </span></span></b><br />
<br /></div>
Melodie Beth Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01491194906557915679noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000784900301227178.post-79970497255255688152016-02-27T20:39:00.001-06:002016-02-27T20:39:05.999-06:00I was a Paint by Numbers Kid<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">I can only draw stick
figures, but my father wanted me to be an artist.</span></span><br />
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">When I was in grade
school, he was willing to pay for art lessons at The Orange Crate in Huron. But
Mom said I was busy enough with school, church, and piano lessons. She bought
me paint-by-number kits instead.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">My art friends are
cringing. Sorry.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuJPLutSPE1pa_no8yKjDJ5RAfxz7n98_H_IMT8rwKA55eN0VMMEvBbQqUAxl3clrZYZTYBF9D4lrM9ENm-kg8GF7R2bP2CYPWpNOlfQreOe6jik1iaB6A-ZXzhFHscMKcVkD_jHw3WDhyphenhyphen/s1600/Mel.trying.to.paint.easel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuJPLutSPE1pa_no8yKjDJ5RAfxz7n98_H_IMT8rwKA55eN0VMMEvBbQqUAxl3clrZYZTYBF9D4lrM9ENm-kg8GF7R2bP2CYPWpNOlfQreOe6jik1iaB6A-ZXzhFHscMKcVkD_jHw3WDhyphenhyphen/s320/Mel.trying.to.paint.easel.jpg" width="310" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Dad didn't give up though.
He moved on to another medium. Photography. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">I was a high school sophomore
one Sunday afternoon when we drove to Lewis Drug in Huron, and he bought me a Canon
35-millimeter camera. That spring he insisted I attend a photography class on
Monday nights at Huron
College. I did. The information
was way over my head. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">But that's my dad, Mr.
You-Need-To-Get-Educated.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">I didn’t understand aperture
and f-stops (and I still don’t), so I put the camera on program and away I went
snapping shots for the yearbook.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">As a college freshman, I
enrolled in introduction to photography, again at Dad’s insistence. I didn't
understand the book work (again the f-stops and aperture confused me), so I
bombed the paper/pencil quizzes.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">I could take the pictures
and earned good marks for my photos, but I didn't want a C or worse to start
out with, so I dropped the class—only it was beyond the two-week grace period
to do so. I have big fat W for withdrawal on my transcript. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">I continued to play
around with taking pictures, especially with black and white film when I was at
home in the summers on the farm. Two young nieces who lived nearby served as my
models.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">I coerced Suzanne and
Jessica to display downtrodden faces and pose by old buildings around their
home and mine. I dug up an old rusty lantern, some tin cans and books as props.
We had fun in the early 90s on our little photo shoots in rural South Dakota. I
did the same with my Walter niece and nephews who lived two hours away.</span></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4GveOIAj9aDgUljGNPZS4cNkkQtxgCywUEjtqEL1N1qnNn32OYURCxtLA7YGN1sJle2PZSlomxjb3mumbonQC883mRaJPhhXxXz5-Xz3_UquftpYW8TyZ2M1BLdzuoKQJjkC8kZCdlwAu/s1600/oldtruck.collage.bw.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4GveOIAj9aDgUljGNPZS4cNkkQtxgCywUEjtqEL1N1qnNn32OYURCxtLA7YGN1sJle2PZSlomxjb3mumbonQC883mRaJPhhXxXz5-Xz3_UquftpYW8TyZ2M1BLdzuoKQJjkC8kZCdlwAu/s400/oldtruck.collage.bw.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">These photos were a big
hit with my brother-in-law Glen who lives in Kansas near me. He liked the black and white
pictures so much that they displayed them in their home for awhile.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">It was during this time
that Martha Brohammer, my friend and colleague, re-taught me how to use the
dark room to develop the film. I had been taught that in the college course I’d
dropped. She was the art and Spanish teacher when I came to Cheney.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">I wouldn't know how to function
in a dark room today and am glad digital photography came along.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgWsgibREAdUHP97rD2giQr3wikBCLTOeORFBjLrwIN_jjgXHJSwMsYbLIfy9PirGqo0D1hQsZrooQ-h93l-OlEIqZS8Fivy8SlIh2dN6tH5ZTjc9j5snfrNbDZ8JkqNnCp053dwwyEBRo/s1600/Robin.May7.2010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgWsgibREAdUHP97rD2giQr3wikBCLTOeORFBjLrwIN_jjgXHJSwMsYbLIfy9PirGqo0D1hQsZrooQ-h93l-OlEIqZS8Fivy8SlIh2dN6tH5ZTjc9j5snfrNbDZ8JkqNnCp053dwwyEBRo/s320/Robin.May7.2010.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Melodie's KSN Shot of the Day in May 2010</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">In 2004, I bought my
first digital camera, a point and shoot thing. In 2006 for Christmas, my
husband Chris bought me a better one since my old camera failed to capture the
beautiful fall foliage of Eureka Springs, Arkansas, where we were married.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Then in 2009, he bought
our first camera with the swing-out viewfinder, so we could have decent videos
of his daughter Brittany's singing and acting events. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Thus began Chris’
photography hobby. He's had many cameras since and continues to dabble and
learn. It's been fun watching him develop <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">into a<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">n artist and actually sell his work on <a href="http://fineartamerica.com/profiles/chris-harris.html" target="_blank">Fine Art America</a></span></span>. He passed me up months
ago. His Facebook photography page, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/KansasWildlifeAndNaturePhotography/" target="_blank">Framing Kansas</a>, is three-years<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">-</span>old this month
with over 12,000 followers. </span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">It’s still fun to remind
him though that</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">I was the first one with a KSN photo of the day. A shot of a bird, of all things, whose mouth was full of worms. Leon Smitherman of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Kansas Today</i>, dubbed it "Breakfast of
Champions" in May 2010.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Has anyone ever tried to turn you into something you're not? Did you develop any little bit of the desired skill?</b></span></span></span></div>
Melodie Beth Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01491194906557915679noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000784900301227178.post-70950514846819300472016-02-21T19:59:00.001-06:002016-02-21T20:12:33.015-06:00Honoring a Friend on Her Birthday<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Ever
have one of those friends who is the opposite of you? I do.
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: small; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">She's
spontaneous. I'm a planner. She's a let's-just-throw-this-together person. And it
works. She is the always-have-to-be-doing-something type gal. I'm a wait-a-minute-gotta-do-nothin'-for-awhile
woman. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: small; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Here's
another contrast: I think <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Dumb and Dumber</i>
is the best comedy movie out there. She fell asleep during it.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: small; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Would
those differences make for a good friendship?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: small; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">It
does for us. For Valerie Shellhammer and me.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: small; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">We
have a lot in common. We're women. So we talk, analyze, and rehash the same old
stories. We
also cry. In front of each other.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: small; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">We're
golfers. We enjoy exercise. We like to eat. Actually, I love cooking and
serving her food when she pops in between jobs. She's self-employed. She's
crafty and good with her hands in creating things. I'm not. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: small; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I
correct her spelling and help her word things the correct way when she writes.
She grounds me in reality with children. I ground her in reality with husbands.
</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: small; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I
think we're good for each other. She's the closest thing to a sister my age
that I've got. My real sisters grew up in a different generation. This Valerie-sister,
I'll call her that so as not to confuse, grew up in the same time period as I
did, but she's almost two years older.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdW7rq-vvVgDQ39nKdJuQ9abBLK0TUqW-i4fM8Ak5weyN_NINUJ_AjmvHuJ2I6coCQRylIgNHIMP9uAOQy0kuY14k4Kk4PL2NHAVkJDchx9LaNQ0269OrKdqrLVXGYi5pK1jlEJNFxEolU/s1600/Vallerie+Melodie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdW7rq-vvVgDQ39nKdJuQ9abBLK0TUqW-i4fM8Ak5weyN_NINUJ_AjmvHuJ2I6coCQRylIgNHIMP9uAOQy0kuY14k4Kk4PL2NHAVkJDchx9LaNQ0269OrKdqrLVXGYi5pK1jlEJNFxEolU/s400/Vallerie+Melodie.jpg" width="266" /></a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: small; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">We
understand the 70s, our elementary years. We get the 80s too when girls could
be tomboys. When girls had all the rights that the generation before us fought
for. And we are thankful for that.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: small; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Because of those trailblazers, we could play
basketball for our schools. She played half-court though in Oklahoma. I played
full-court in South Dakota.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: small; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">And a couple decades later, God put us in the same
town, on the same basketball bus. I was coaching basketball, and she sponsored
the cheerleaders. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: small; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">We played ladies' golf, walked and talked, and talked some
more on the phone.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: small; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">She
housed my husband the first day I met him when he came for a visit, and
designed my step-daughter Brittany's room, so it was ready before she even moved
in.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: small; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Valerie
helps me stay grounded in my faith in Christ. She's not a goody-goody, but
she's a Biblically-sound person striving to live as our Savior intends. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: small; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">And
tomorrow, I wish her a happy birthday. She's moved out of Cheney now, but not
too far, and I appreciate the time she always makes for me. I
know she feels the same. We verbalize it. We've always been that way. Talkative.
</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: small; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Thank
you, Lord, for my Proverbs 18:24 friend. A friend who sticks closer than a brother.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: small; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: small; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Is your best friend the opposite of you in any way? What pulls you together more, the similarities or the differences? What do you do together to keep your friendship in tact?</span></span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: small; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: small; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></span></div>
Melodie Beth Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01491194906557915679noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000784900301227178.post-3397996909818056732016-02-07T21:50:00.001-06:002016-02-07T22:14:06.223-06:00My Own Mr. Fixer Upper<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">For a couple weeks one February, I lived with a table saw in the living room.</span></span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhULA6Np3EuQQYvAa3SXOi5caSzjwqO8XpSgqnJ596ysUFNa2Y78RuRfOiYjrbNixNpD9tMQAkOToQqg3MGXDt5wUr_XjkK9_ifLKOeAm1-j7hyLTL8ApupvCjZAWPo2G9YPXX3wRXMAhYh/s1600/BathroomRemodel.tablesawinfrontroom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhULA6Np3EuQQYvAa3SXOi5caSzjwqO8XpSgqnJ596ysUFNa2Y78RuRfOiYjrbNixNpD9tMQAkOToQqg3MGXDt5wUr_XjkK9_ifLKOeAm1-j7hyLTL8ApupvCjZAWPo2G9YPXX3wRXMAhYh/s320/BathroomRemodel.tablesawinfrontroom.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We had no garage at the time, and my husband was remodeling the bathroom. He'd already put in a new kitchen floor,
so I was used to a stove and refrigerator setting in there, but that was only
for a couple days.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">This bathroom thing took awhile. And for a couple days, we took sponge baths. My good dishes set on the dining
room table since the china closet had to be moved out of the way—and so did the table.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My husband hadn't even looked for a job yet because he'd moved at the start of December and had a nice sum of money
from his house sale. His days were spent as Mr. Fixer Upper.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We hadn't really planned on changing things right away, but when the frig leak ruined the flooring in the kitchen, he went to work on other parts of the house.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">All of the supplies and new furnishings were kept inside the house.
Yes, inside. Where we were living. Toilet in its box. In the living room. Bath tub. In the living room. Table saw, bead board, caulking supplies. In the living room. And there was still room for us to <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">maneuver</span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">onto the cou<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">ch</span></span>. I know. Crazy. Crowded.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm63UHRCMyAvjWC9DwPfN9SjC0L-Occ2NbmBBlvVkg84IsqQ53aFedxVRgiwK1WAGm4yjTd_tXSV2ruy7tG3NfdDxiclsn2CqTF0gDTsjOdl11XwJGFXjH__4O3xwftFMfXJLlnKhszWKC/s1600/remodel.2007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm63UHRCMyAvjWC9DwPfN9SjC0L-Occ2NbmBBlvVkg84IsqQ53aFedxVRgiwK1WAGm4yjTd_tXSV2ruy7tG3NfdDxiclsn2CqTF0gDTsjOdl11XwJGFXjH__4O3xwftFMfXJLlnKhszWKC/s400/remodel.2007.jpg" width="400" /></a><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I stored extra toilet paper on top of the small couch in our bedroom. The bedroom got another closet. One just for him.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I came home from a basketball game to him sanding the top of his dresser closet. The thing was so smooth. But he stunk. I don't think he'd bathed for a few days—even though the bathroom was done at that point.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"What's the use?" he said. "I'm just going to stink more tomorrow."</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Those early days of married life taught me what it meant to live with other people, not just a dog. Oh, forgot to mention, we had two of those runn<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">ing</span> around.</span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Have you gone through a mess in your living space? How did you cope with <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">i<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">t</span></span>?</span></span></b><br />
<br />
<br />Melodie Beth Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01491194906557915679noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000784900301227178.post-15956604997932750612016-01-30T12:31:00.001-06:002016-01-30T21:13:26.047-06:00Where Were You When the Big Things Happened?<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Thirty years ago this week, the Space Shuttle Challenger
exploded killing the seven astronauts on board. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Where were you</b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> when the Challenger <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">bl<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">ew up</span></span>?</b></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I was a sophomore in the library at Tabor College in
Hillsboro, Kansas, when students came in talking about it. Soon we surrounded
the big screen TV in the student center watching the replays of the tragedy.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This is the event I use to teach the research paper process to my seventh graders, so I’m <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">alwa<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">ys aware of its anniversary</span></span>. Thinking about it this year; however, caused me to chronicle where I'd been during major events.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Here are a few.</span></span><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Where were you when Elvis died?</span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I was playing outside with my best friend Gail and my
second cousin Jodi Glanzer. We were near the tree we played on as a couch since its trunk lay parallel to the ground. Mom came out and told us that he’d passed. Gail and I liked his "Hound Dog" song, so we were a little sad.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But my dad likes to tell a story about what happened that night at
supper. He asked Jodi, a preacher's kid, what she thought of Elvis. She replied, “He’s not my
type.” We all laughed at her respectful disapproval of Elvis. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Where were you when President Ronald Reagan was shot?</span></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I was on
the east stairway of Hitchcock High School when Larry Gilbert, a student a few
years older, came in from shop class yelling, “The President’s been shot.” </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Our shop teacher, Coach Mike Satter, must have had the radio on out there, for teachers didn’t have cable TV in their classrooms
back the 80s. Later that night on the news, I remember thinking how bizarre it was for John Hinkley to shoot the President to impress Jodi Foster, the actress.</span></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Where were you when Michael Jackson died?</span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">was </span>at Conklin
Cars in Hutchinson, Kansas, waiting for my Alero to get tured up. On
television was a documentary of the life of Farrah Fawcett who had just died
that week from a battle with cancer. News reports of emergency vehicles showing
up at Jackson’s mansion interrupted the program.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">When I got home, my
step-daughter Brittany called on the phone and said, “I’m sure sorry about Michael
Jackson dying, Melodie.” She knew I was a fan of his music. I was shocked, for
I hadn’t heard that he was gone.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Days later I bawled during most of his funeral
when it was televised on cable. I scrubbed away cleaning the kitchen and
bathroom. Mad—not necessarily because he wo<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">uldn't</span> be producing music anymore, but because
of the choices he’d made that lead to the demise of his reputation.</span></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Where were you <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">when t</span>he OJ verdict was read?</span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I stood stunned beside
my social studies colleague Peter Holton when we’d gathered a bunch of jr.
highers into our largest room to hear it. Shock. The entire room. Quiet. No
cheers. No sighs of relief. Just mystified by the decision.</span></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Where were you when the World Trade Center was attacked by
terrorists?</span></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I was in my classroom teaching. My middle school communication students were critiquing videotapes
of their monologue projects. <i>The Today
Show</i> would come on between me switching out the tapes, so we heard the
reporting of Tower One being on fire. The kids wanted to watch it, and I’d told
them no and that we had stuff to do, so we kept on with our critiques. That was
the class of 2007. Tiane DeVore, Kurt Lehner, Bill Rhodes. Some of the faces in
that morning group.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Not until class break did I hear from other teachers what
was going on. I tried to go on with my day as normal; however, some teachers
watched the coverage all day long with the students. </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I’m glad I hadn't stopped to watch that morning, for I
wouldn’t have wanted to be responsible for young eyes seeing that second tower hit.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">By mid-afternoon, teachers stood looking out the south
windows of the school. Cars lined up out onto Main Street of our tiny town to get gas. I waited in line over 20 minutes that evening.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We </span>shut off our motors and stood outside talking while waiting
to pull up to the tank. I knew the man I stood by but can't remember who he was. We stood, Amercians, together. <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">T</span>alking, wondering,
concerned. A crisis made us pause.</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The manager of the
station came out twice to change the price on the sign. A few <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">murmured</span> at her. She was following orders from corporate. We all knew that, but it was disconcerting.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I was supposed to meet with my neighbors' brother-in-law that evening to discuss the addition of a garage to my home. We never met. Everyone hunkered down and stayed home. Then the reports of the heroics of the Pennsylvania plane came in. I sat in my house. Alone. And cried. Cried for America. Part fear. Part pride. </span></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Did you wait in line during the 2000 presidential election between
Gore and Bush?</span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I did. In small-town middle-America. I voted in the evening after
basketball practice. I’d never seen our poling area filled with chairs and
people let alone a line outside the <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">police station, our pol<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">in<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">g place</span></span></span>. I sat next to Jessa Albers<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">,</span> wife of a former student and now our school
nurse<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">.</span></span></span> It's where we met. The turnout was incredible. Again, Americans. Together for a common purpose.</span></span>
</div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Something tells me election day will be like that agai<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">n.<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>What details do you recall from the events I mentioned?</b></span></span> </div>
Melodie Beth Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01491194906557915679noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000784900301227178.post-73724045750629382552016-01-24T21:16:00.000-06:002016-01-24T21:16:06.196-06:003 Time Management Tips
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">What we do the night before prepares us for the day ahead. Sounds
like common sense, right, but some of us get frazzled because we're not
morning people. Or, we've got people other than ourselves to get ready.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Here
are a few time management tips. Thanks to my mom, some of these are childhood
habits. Others, I've learned the hard way.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<u><b><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">One</span></b></u></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Plan your meals. Make your lunch. Pack it. Get it ready. Do
the same for your evening meal. Know what it's going to be. Everyone has a
diet. Plan yours like budget. I try to plan our meals for the week.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">When I
first married, I never did that. I'd come home and then wonder what was for
supper. I made a calendar and prepared menus like lesson plans. I knew on
busier days that I might not want to come home and cook. Or sometimes,
depending on what type of busy, cooking with the cutting and stirring, helped
me slow down, relax, and be mindful of what I was doing. It was almost therapeutic.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Once you get a calendar going, you'll know what foods to cook after each other
because you'll finish off the fresh ingredients you spent the money to buy. You
won't be running to the store every night either and probably spend less.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
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<u><b><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Two</span></b></u></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Prepare your clothing. Mom would set out my clothes the night before, and even thought I don't actually do that, I do have an idea of what I'm wearing each day.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Make it appropriate for the weather
and the day's tasks. If<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>getting a haircut,
don't wear a black turtleneck. Spending time in unfamiliar territory? Then wear
layers to avoid problems with the temperature. If you still iron clothes like I
do (I don't use the dryer for dress clothes. I have a thing about shrinkage),
then iron everything at once. Put on your favorite TV show or music and get it
done.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Why is this so important? Because everything in the closet is ready to go.
Wear things more than once if they're not soiled. Saves time and money.</span></div>
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<u><b><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Three</span></b></u></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Go to bed. This is the most important thing of all. Why? So
you can get up in the morning. I've learned this from my husband. It's never
too early to go to bed if you're tired.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Get up early enough so you have
built-in margin. But be careful not to piddle and use up all the extra time.
That's my current problem—I'm using it and getting out the door later than I
want to.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I wrote a draft of this post during a 15-minute free-write time on
January 11 in the morning before work. I really liked moving my writing time to
the morning, but last week it didn't work because I had duties at school in the
morning and needed to get a move on.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Keep in mind that what works one week,
might not work the next, but that doesn't mean you can't go back to it when the
schedule changes. I'm no expert on time management, but I try to be efficient so I can relax and actually waste time and not feel guilty about it.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><b>What tips do you have to manage time? Do you
find you've gotten better the older you get or have you gotten worse?</b></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span>Melodie Beth Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01491194906557915679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000784900301227178.post-17446469301334490412016-01-09T21:32:00.003-06:002016-01-10T15:10:05.003-06:00Cherishing Those Lottery-Like Moments<style>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I've won the lottery all-life long.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I hit it when I was born. My parents were seasoned, for they'd already
raised three other children. My mom said she was thankful for me, a healthy
breach baby of barely six pounds. Because of my size and near jaundice condition,
I remained in the hospital for four days while Mom got to go home.</span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0j6JwciqDzOGyNkUHH6PKS_SDyXqcIsPqhOXSKxcA2ut4jq67HHXzAXtunsJUQWUwh8CyWoWOPXOXNQgvmH_6khxrsh17c7mGcp1Mh661ZswBXs307RnKxYu8FdcFSaHqzvkEHk13dBCo/s1600/IMG_3101-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0j6JwciqDzOGyNkUHH6PKS_SDyXqcIsPqhOXSKxcA2ut4jq67HHXzAXtunsJUQWUwh8CyWoWOPXOXNQgvmH_6khxrsh17c7mGcp1Mh661ZswBXs307RnKxYu8FdcFSaHqzvkEHk13dBCo/s320/IMG_3101-1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">When I turned six, Mom threw me a party with a few of my cousins, church
kids, and some school friends. After games and food, we went outside. When Dad
wheeled a brand new bike around the corner, I thought I'd hit the lottery. I
had no idea I was getting it. I'm not sure where they'd kept it hidden. Maybe
at my brother's? Church friend Jimmy Joe Weems said, "That's
nothing," when he saw the bike. He hopped on it to show how he could drive
it without training wheels. He ran into the gas pumps.</span></span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfuYU05A8MbCb6tnKPvY546zCa-NKqj7aEm5Ccw81XYfziSlFXyxmL8Xr50lRChc0VlNIcrRzNlqsZ0EIlrSTCwAAVXjUJLWCA4D7S_5r3oKcYGJDmL9j-sBtWaRAitrutYXHEISYqc0qc/s1600/005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfuYU05A8MbCb6tnKPvY546zCa-NKqj7aEm5Ccw81XYfziSlFXyxmL8Xr50lRChc0VlNIcrRzNlqsZ0EIlrSTCwAAVXjUJLWCA4D7S_5r3oKcYGJDmL9j-sBtWaRAitrutYXHEISYqc0qc/s320/005.JPG" width="212" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">In fourth grade, we were assigned to draw something representing our
birthday month. I did as Mom suggested and drew a flag for July. Mrs. Schneider
picked my picture as the winner. I don't remember any prize for it except her
saying it, but I felt like I'd won the lottery. It was nice to be praised. I've
kept that flag all these years. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">In high school when I earned the honor of representing my school at Girls'
State in the summer of 1983, I was shocked. I was not the smartest in my class,
nor the second smartest, or the third. But politics fascinated me, even back
then—and not just in election years. My essay caught the eyes of the judges,
and I got to go.</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I bawled when Mom drove me there,
for I was so scared. I'd never gone to an event with all strangers and stay
over night for four days. A girl from my church, Heather Mendel, was attending, but we'd be in separate groups. I knew our paths would never cross. In addition, the NBA finals were on TV that week. I
didn't want to miss them. This was the year Dr. J earned his ring, and I heard about it on the radio that night. I
think I cried myself to sleep because basketball was such an important part of
my life back then.</span></span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrHfuEytktsilt3-NIXLXM2odS_wTWC2rAYpnCpZxAiO1JQgyiaZMjDu6OSMYLHyZf_IWyUxuXSXWukX6TNwW_JdveFVg2RQBq-e9hR_JO3irQfN4Q4FxrWwtNMS33x2wQeCUT5szkPeBM/s1600/Mel.GirlsState.summer.1983.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrHfuEytktsilt3-NIXLXM2odS_wTWC2rAYpnCpZxAiO1JQgyiaZMjDu6OSMYLHyZf_IWyUxuXSXWukX6TNwW_JdveFVg2RQBq-e9hR_JO3irQfN4Q4FxrWwtNMS33x2wQeCUT5szkPeBM/s400/Mel.GirlsState.summer.1983.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me: in back, 2nd from left. My roommate, Heidi Shanard: front row, green skirt.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I did enjoy the week though and reported back to the American
Legion. I remember them saying, "We've never heard anyone enjoying this
quite like you did, Melodie." Their response made me happy. Seems we'd
both hit the lottery.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">When I landed the job at Cheney, I felt God's favor again. How many first
year teachers are lucky enough to live near a big city but enjoy the safety of
small town life? Years later, Superintendent Don Wells told me I'd yelled into
the phone with excitement when he made the offer. I was pretty excited, for I'd
been driving all over the state for interviews. But when I drove to the top of
the highest point in Sedgwick County and saw the little town in the valley, I
thought this place might be the one. And it turns out, it was. I got to teach English. To kids. It was work, but it didn't seem
like work once I got the hang of it. And I was an assistant girls'
basketball coach, part of a winning program that went to state six years
straight. I'd hit the lottery.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And now decades later, with my match.com husband and a little grand baby
in our world, I feel once again that I've won the lottery. Dad is 91 and
healthy. Our dogs, my favorite companions, are always nearby. Family seems nearby too thanks to FaceTime.
Boredom and loneliness don't visit me much anymore. And I've got this writing
gig going—this place to share my thoughts. Life seems good.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I call these blessings. Some would say, the favor of God. Others would say
just luck. But tonight, hours away from the Powerball announcement, I'll call
it winning the lottery because when my $2 ticket doesn't win tonight, I'll still be rich with these blessings, these memories, these relationships.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Money can't buy that.</span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">What memories, honors, or events are priceless in your life? </span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Ever bought a lottery ticket and fantasized what you'd do with the winnings?</span></b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>Melodie Beth Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01491194906557915679noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000784900301227178.post-71327954066889485962016-01-02T19:29:00.002-06:002016-01-02T19:29:29.369-06:00The Legacy Mom Left<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I found a note today that I'd written </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">on the back of a program.</span></span> Seemed fitting to find it today, the anniversary of my mother's death in 2005. It's been eleven years. The year of the ice storm. What follows is a transcript of the note I wrote in 2008. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </span><i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </span></i></span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">As I sit here at the women's conference after the singing and worship portion, I'm so thankful that all the adult women in my family are born-again Christians. Our lifestyles are different. Professionals, moms, retired ladies, missionary-types, single, married, and step-moms.</span></i></span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNDW9oxyVrybGX7HOAQp3gnBNSsjQHGDNQfiFgYub3VMeCl8o71v0TcKiXwfoIvhWBRyFmgWz7oSHH_yRQdrWVaIGBgWsbvjS3ykyMWa9qw2kGwid1HrtyP7bQtXt42THhzS08GM8tra_D/s1600/Mom.teenager.holds.little.boy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNDW9oxyVrybGX7HOAQp3gnBNSsjQHGDNQfiFgYub3VMeCl8o71v0TcKiXwfoIvhWBRyFmgWz7oSHH_yRQdrWVaIGBgWsbvjS3ykyMWa9qw2kGwid1HrtyP7bQtXt42THhzS08GM8tra_D/s400/Mom.teenager.holds.little.boy.jpg" width="235" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Mom, as a teenager babysitter</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Oh, how precious it is for me to rest in the fact that Jesus is your Savior. My prayer is for all the little souls who will come after us, my great nieces and nephews, that they will have the faith we do and pass it on.</span></i></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I think often of Yos, my great-great-grandpa on my mom's side. He'd be proud of us! He'd traveled here from Russia, left the colony to live the American life of freedom. I'm so glad he did.</span></i></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">May whatever you're doing today as you get my hand-scribbled note <span style="font-size: x-small;">[it seems I'd planned to copy this and mail it but never did</span>], may you remember that the choices we make affect future generations, just like Yos' did. </span></i></span></span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Just like Stella's did when she went forward to accept Christ as a young woman all those years ago. And Dad followed. Maybe you don't know that story <span style="font-size: x-small;">[most do now since it was shared at a reunion this summer]</span>, but it's an awesome example of how one little, yet very important, decision changed the course of lives. </span></i></span></span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">That's what it said. That note. Full of gratitude and yearning.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I must have come home from the retreat and stored it away. It was well into the morning today when I realized this was the day Mom had passed on. Then in mid-afternoon, I found the pink note. Seems Mom was giving me something to blog about at the start of this new year. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">She wouldn't like today's world. We have strife. Seems worse than ever, she'd say.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTuRU6NySrxJPaEzbTWhQxvL3uEWLEmW2Gr5tgevrpmy3U2YS2J1GEkG3xxhO33lMFgZk8pP-qSAAd2fgPSvTvi5xopH9G75pTms0ow4uqmLC0ayGNdKw0t4DImKraN0TvXX_dPeJi064v/s1600/049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTuRU6NySrxJPaEzbTWhQxvL3uEWLEmW2Gr5tgevrpmy3U2YS2J1GEkG3xxhO33lMFgZk8pP-qSAAd2fgPSvTvi5xopH9G75pTms0ow4uqmLC0ayGNdKw0t4DImKraN0TvXX_dPeJi064v/s320/049.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Economical. Racial. Political. Religious. Even within our Christian faiths, Catholic and Protestant alike, we disagree on many so things. Mom would say, "Devil's havin' fun amongst us."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">But one thing never changes: Christ's love for us. The gift of eternal life through His son.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I'll close with another one of Mom's favorite sayings when she didn't know what to say when people's behavior seemed to disappoint our human thinking, "I'm sure glad I'm not the judge."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I'm certain the judge on the throne found her faithful.</span>Melodie Beth Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01491194906557915679noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000784900301227178.post-46277680744865033432015-12-27T21:42:00.001-06:002015-12-27T22:48:22.580-06:006 Favorite Christmas Treats<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">One: peppermint chewy candies</span></span></b><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span></span></b></h3>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The only store-bought item on my list. Couldn't find them
this year. Had to dig out the stash I buried in the cabinet. I like anything
peppermint. These candies have a Christmas tree in the middle. For Valentine's,
a heart. Maybe stores will sell them in February.</span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Two: Mom's cranberry relish</span></span></b><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span></b></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">As a child, I never ate it, but after my sister Brenda
served it one time at Thanksgiving, because she knew our nephew Michael liked
it, I tried some. Now I make it for my family. My little nephew-in-law Wesley
couldn't get enough of it one year for Thanksgiving at my mother-in-law's. It's
quite a sight when I make it though. I have to stand on a chair to smash it
down into the attachment to the mixer. Nothing makes me feel short like that
does.</span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Three: peanut blossom cookies</span></span></b></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The ones with the chocolate kiss on top made with a bit of
cream peanut butter. I prefer Mrs. Elmer Hofer's recipe in the old Hutterthal
Church cookbook that Mom gave me when I moved out on my own. I'll be making my
second batch of these during Christmas break.</span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Four: fudge</span></span></b><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span></b></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Simple ingredients from Laura Goosen's recipe. She
was our pastor's wife when I was an elementary student. Wrote about her famous
bun recipe <a href="http://melodieharris.blogspot.com/2014/07/skinned-knee-with-slice-of-white-bread.html" target="_blank">here</a>. I have to freeze this fudge it to cut it otherwise it's too
gooey. One small piece satisfies me for hours. </span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Five: cheese ball</span></span></b><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span></b></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Mom's recipe with pimentos. Son-in-law Nate
almost ate half of it in one setting the other day he liked it so much. My
niece-in-law Amy in South Dakota loves it when I make this at Christmas time. </span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Six: Mom's fruitcake</span></span></b><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span></b></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Yes. Fruitcake. I make it every year for my
seventh graders. because of "A Christmas Memory," a short story we
study by Truman Capote. Kids gag, spit it out, eat it fast to get it over with.
I tell them it's okay, they don't have to like it, and that they won't hurt my
feelings.</span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">But many do the opposite and come back for more at the end of the
day. Past students hear I've brought it again and pop in for leftovers. And
teachers peek in to say, "If you have enough, may I please have a
piece?" And of course, I oblige. This too is my mom's recipe in that old
church cookbook.</span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><b>What I didn't list</b></span></span><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </b></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Notice I didn't say sugar cookies? I do enjoy the
melt-in-your-mouth ones made by my friend Paula Voth, but I cannot make them.
My husband and step-daughter Brittany joke that I'm not good at making the
simple things: mac and cheese from a box, eggs, pancakes—so it doesn't surprise
me that I can't make these.</span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Mom couldn't make them either, but that didn't stop my Kansas
sister Brenda and me from trying sugar cookies one holiday season. We took them
home to the family in South Dakota. People didn't seem interested in eating a
Christmas stocking that looked like a cowboy boot, so they got dumped to the
hogs.</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I also enjoy homemade caramel, but this too, Mom and I
couldn't master. Janice Peterson, the mother of my childhood friend and
classmate Adele, made incredible caramel. I have the recipe in a classroom
cookbook from third grade. Each of us brought family recipes for Mrs. Gilchrist
to organize in a cookbook that we gave to our moms for Christmas. I need to
find that thing and try the caramels again.</span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Soon holiday celebrations will cease and so will the treat
making. No. Wait. Valentine's Day brings more of the same. I'll make more
fudge. And peanut blossom cookies. And look for the peppermint chew candies in
the stores. Then after that, it's Easter. Oh, how I love solid chocolate bunnies! And
peeps. And candy message hearts. And Russell Stovers.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Oh, how my sweet tooth rules. I have a mouth full of
cavities, capped teeth, and an implant to show for it too—but that's due to not
brushing my teeth when I was little and lying to Mom about it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">What are your favorite holiday treats? Which ones are the
must-makes? Which ones belong in the hog pen? Are there some holiday treats you
make all year round?</span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span></span>Melodie Beth Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01491194906557915679noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000784900301227178.post-42975959232245401742015-12-19T17:54:00.001-06:002015-12-19T17:54:22.240-06:00My Worst Christmas Gift Ever<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I asked my seventh grade students about the worst present
they've ever received at Christmas time. Th<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">e </span>d<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">is<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">cuss<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">ion</span></span> came up while reading my favorite tear-jerker holiday sto<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">ry</span>, "<a href="http://www.sailthouforth.com/2009/12/christmas-memory.html" target="_blank">A Ch</a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.sailthouforth.com/2009/12/christmas-memory.html" target="_blank">ristmas </a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.sailthouforth.com/2009/12/christmas-memory.html" target="_blank">M</a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.sailthouforth.com/2009/12/christmas-memory.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">e</span>mory</span></a>" by <a href="http://www.famousauthors.org/truman-capote" target="_blank">Truman</a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.famousauthors.org/truman-capote" target="_blank"> Capote</a>.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Responses: a phone book, a sack of dog poop, a gift
card with $1 on it. Not the greatest of Christmas gifts.
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">After hearing those, my worst<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">-</span>present<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">-</span>ever story isn't so
bad, but I'm going to tell it anyway. Not out of ingratitude, out of humor.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">'d asked for </span>typewriter one year because I loved to type. I had the
"every good man must come to the aid of his country" phrase down. </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Piano
playing from <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">a</span>ge eight came in handy when typing.<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> A</span></span>fter counting my errors on an <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">exercise</span> one day</span>, I had typed 9<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">0<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">-some</span></span> words a minute in Mrs. <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Zieman's <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">business</span> class at HHS</span>. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So, I wanted a typewriter. Bad. <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">B</span>egged for one. Really begged.<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span>I knew that's what was in the rectangular heavy box under the
tree when I was a young high school student.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">To my dismay, that's not what was in it. No modern <a href="http://www.smithcorona.com/gallery/" target="_blank">Smith Corona</a> for me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It was an electronic foot soaker.<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span>My dad's idea. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Grandma Katie, my mom's mom who'd lived with us when I was younger, frequently soaked her feet in a tub of sudsy
hot water. I would do it too. </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">R<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">ead more about</span></span> Grandma Katie <a href="http://melodieharris.blogspot.com/2015/08/adult-reflections-of-life-with-grandma.html" target="_blank">here</a>.<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span>Long</span> after Grandma was out of the house, I <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">still soaked my feet</span>. In fact, I still do it today.<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> It's <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">especially</span> <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">relaxing </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">with a cup of
hot tea, a dog or two, and a good book or the remote tuned to the Lifetime Movie Channel.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">With<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> the foot s<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">oaker gift, m</span></span></span>y observant father believed he was giving me, his teenage
daughter, a <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">present</span> she'd appreciate, but the snotty<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> only</span> used <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">it</span> once. Mom was scared I'd electrocute
myself.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So that was my worst Christmas present ever.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I did end up getting a typewriter—maybe for my birthday that
summer—and in typical Dad-fashion, it was the Cadillac of typewriters.<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span>He
tends to go overboard on things. Gets the deluxe version when the typical will
do. I married a man just like him. I'm lucky, but I admit, the unapprec<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">iative </span>girl comes out in me sometimes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My best Christmas present? If we're taking about material things,
I'm not sure I have one.
But the best present was Jesus Christ whose birth is
celebrated by Christians around the world. I call Him Sav<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">ior</span>. He is the one still shaping this girl into the <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">woman</span> He wants her to be.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And with that I say, Merry Christmas<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">!</span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">How about you? Want to reveal your least favorite Christmas
present? Who was it from? Why did they give it to you? Or, maybe you want to
share the worse gift you've ever given. </span></b><br />
<br /></div>
Melodie Beth Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01491194906557915679noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000784900301227178.post-76635396158608491082015-12-12T22:07:00.000-06:002015-12-13T10:54:51.600-06:00Part 2: Inside the Life of a State Trooper<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOCXYMFOgwsfTuWMNKCDSNJ_23RK7vw870fmtGEklukzHsQTwp28jSc8kkGtGfh5a1mcueTmnQAc_YhW8NTI9DL98-mUQwEak4zNdz8evwAPmoiUobTvkYJbw6A6DjxO3aD8Sutxqh44EZ/s1600/CoJason.grand.canyon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOCXYMFOgwsfTuWMNKCDSNJ_23RK7vw870fmtGEklukzHsQTwp28jSc8kkGtGfh5a1mcueTmnQAc_YhW8NTI9DL98-mUQwEak4zNdz8evwAPmoiUobTvkYJbw6A6DjxO3aD8Sutxqh44EZ/s320/CoJason.grand.canyon.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">My
niece Colleen shares her December 8th birthday with her husband Jason. He's a
Nebraska State Trooper, and for the last couple of years, she's been a
school secretary.<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span>They live in Norfolk, Nebraska, with their three
daughters and their dog named Copper.</span></span></span></span></span></span></i></span><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The
two met in Omaha while attending Grace University. After 16 years of
marriage, this couple is physically fit and financially responsible.</span></i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I
thought it'd be interesting for them to share their lives with the
readers of the blog, so I interviewed them about their occupations and
interests.<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">C</span>lick <a href="http://melodieharris.blogspot.com/2015/12/inside-life-of-state-trooper-part-i.html" target="_blank">here</a> for Part 1. </span></i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Last week Jason shared how he'd impacted a man's life. Now for a person that impacted him.</span></b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Here's a photo that I took with a young girl while walking through a local carnival one night.<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">A little girl walked up to
me and asked, “Will you take a picture with me?”<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span>My reply was, “Of
course, sweetie.” <br /><br /> Her mother posted this comment and picture
that night:</span></span></span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">“This is my daughter, Faith, at the Carnival tonight here in
Norfolk. We have taught our daughter to respect our local law
enforcement. That they are here to keep us safe and to protect us. They
should not be feared. Her smile reflects all that we have instilled in
her and will continue to do so. What was really cool? She <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">asked</span> to take a
picture with him! Such a sweet man. Nebraska's Finest! Stay Safe,
Blue!” </span></span></span></blockquote>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">This
photo hit 1,000 likes in a week on Facebook. It captured many
thoughts and comments and led to multiple discussions about law
enforcement and their relationship with the public. </span></span></span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf2jdosSSrPrAe6Fo68iRP8K9qlPI9fGUI9QRIvq4SqlKkrt90SNajT9RdGSgk61WZvHcDjZFqz2HjtX_zCqQ8wibaatN6YkZNPe0knQnWDmAEeoMOMEODmSxJKENTnMmsjADZYSgH1NXC/s1600/Jason.tropper.pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf2jdosSSrPrAe6Fo68iRP8K9qlPI9fGUI9QRIvq4SqlKkrt90SNajT9RdGSgk61WZvHcDjZFqz2HjtX_zCqQ8wibaatN6YkZNPe0knQnWDmAEeoMOMEODmSxJKENTnMmsjADZYSgH1NXC/s320/Jason.tropper.pic.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">This
was my reply and share<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">:</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></span></span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"</span>Got my picture taken with this sweet young
lady tonight. In light of so much turmoil in our nation with law
enforcement<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">, <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">t</span></span>his little girl reminds us the type of relationships that
we can have with trust, respect, and confidence for each other.” </span></span></span></blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">These
are just a few instances of how rewarding my career in law enforcement
has been. I am thankful to be serving the citizens of our
great stat<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">e <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Nebraska.</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">What have you taught your <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">d</span>aughters about your weapons?</span></span></span></span></b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I have carried weapons for over 13 years and my girls
have never asked me if they could see my gun. They understand that guns are
dangerous and require great responsibility and training to carry or use. They
believe the gun on my belt is for my own safety or for the safety and well<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">-</span>being of those I have sworn to protect.</span></span></span></span></span></blockquote>
</div>
<blockquote>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It’s not complicated with my girls. They have never shown interest or desired to shoot, and I am okay with
that. It just does not register in their
world. Their life is already full of band/orchestra, athletics, academics, church,
friends, and family. I would like to take them out and shoot someday but
we aren't in a hurry.</span></span></span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">As the wife of a trooper, Co, how would you ask people to
pray for you, Jason, and the girls?</span></b></span></span></span></span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">As a wife I always pray that God would keep
Jason safe. I try not to dwell on the ongoing issues and try not to focus on
the “what ifs.” I pray that God would help him to make wise decisions and to
know how to talk to people in a way that would not escalate the situation.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span></span></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">If
Jason is safe, that keeps the girls and me safe. So I guess for the girls and
me, our prayer request would be that we would just trust God with Jason and
help us to know that God has our best interests at heart and in mind. And
whatever happens, God will take care of us.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span></span></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Sometimes I’ll wake up in the
middle of the night, and <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Jason</span> won’t be home from work when he should have been. I
usually say a quick prayer before trying to go back to sleep.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span></span></blockquote>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></b></span></span></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Any </span>challenges or difficulties of being the
school secretary in your child's public school? What do the girls think about
it?</span></span></b></span></span></span> </span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I haven’t found anything challenging or difficult about
being the secretary at their school. I love it and knowing they are there
with me even if I don’t see them except when they pass by. The only thing would
be trying to separate or distinguish from being a parent in the Parent Group
and being an employee and trying not to take on too many responsibilities.<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span>The
girls seem to love it because if they need something or something happened I am
right there to help them with it. I only have one daughter left with me and she
has <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">1<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> 1/2</span></span> years left there.</span></blockquote>
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">What got you two <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">interesting in</span> the concepts Dave Ramsey
teaches? What was going on in your life at the time you started the baby steps?
Explain your role in teaching others (if you have one).</span></b></span></span></span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We took <a href="http://www.daveramsey.com/store/index.ep" target="_blank">Dave Ramsey’s Financial Peace University</a> through
our church in 2008. <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It </span>transformed our thinking about money, budgeting, and planning for the
future.</span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> had just</span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">paid </span>off our van and were going through
the same vicious cycle about filling up our credit card and then paying it off
each month.<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span>Towards the end of the month we would run out of money
and just keep putting it on our credit card for the next month and then pay it
off when pay day came.</span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It seem<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">ed</span> we always had more month than money at the end
of the month. It was frustrating. We never paid interest on our cards and
always paid it off, but it was like we were always a month behind. We just
wanted to catch up so we wouldn’t have to use the credit card.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span></span></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Once we went
through the class and took it to heart and did the steps, it has been amazing.
It has made a drastic change in our marriage. There have not been money issues
since really. We do our budget each month together. We stick to it and have the
same goals, <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">so</span> it is wonderful.</span></span></span></span> </span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We have facilitated Financial Peace University for four
years, putting 80-plus families through. We are looking at doing another class
in January of 2016. It’s awesome helping people with the same issues we had and
seeing them getting out of debt and getting their financial lives in order.</span></span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">This is no doubt one of the most important issues in
marriage. Jesus talked about money, stewardship, and possessions more than any
other teaching. Two-thirds of His parables cover this important issue and the
Bible contains over 2000 verses about it. If it is important to God, then it
should be important to us.</span></span></span> </div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Benjamin Franklin once said, “When you run into debt, you
give to another power over your liberty.” That sounds a lot like Proverbs 22:7
which says, “The rich rules over the poor, and the borrower becomes the
lender’s slave.”</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span></span></blockquote>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Advice for young couples trying to stay physically fit?
Any tips or suggestions for workouts<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">?</span></span></b></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span></span></span>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We love staying in shape because it just makes us feel
better about ourselves and our outlook on life. It keeps us healthy. We
want to be able to play with the girls and keep up with them, although now,
Leah [their eldest daughter] is faster than <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">us</span>.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It’s just easier sometimes for us to
work out at home since the girls are there, but sometimes we like to change it
up. It is hard to get workouts in though when the girls each have activ<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">ities </span>in
the evenings that we need to get them to, <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">so</span> sometimes I just have to look at
the week and schedule it in.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Jason and I walk or run together as
often as we can, sometimes twice a day in the summer, when it’s nice out. <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">If he's not<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> around,<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></span>I usually try and run outside or go to the Y and do
a class there or do <a href="https://www.beachbody.com/product/fitness_programs/insanity.do?code=SEMB_SAN_MSN&utm_campaign=Bing_Brand_Insanity_Alpha&utm_term=insanity%20workout" target="_blank">Insanity</a> videos at home. Jason likes to go to the Y to
workout or do <a href="http://tapoutfitness.com/" target="_blank">TapOut</a> videos at home.</span></span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>What's the weirdest thing you two have done to celebrate
your December 8th birthday?</b></span></span></span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Nothing</span> too weird. We don’t
usually buy each other gifts. We just go out to eat.
Nothing huge, but if it gets me out of cooking, it works for me. </span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span></span></blockquote>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>Melodie Beth Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01491194906557915679noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000784900301227178.post-66697122587816491492015-12-05T19:06:00.002-06:002015-12-05T19:06:46.991-06:00Inside the Life of a State Trooper: Part I<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOCXYMFOgwsfTuWMNKCDSNJ_23RK7vw870fmtGEklukzHsQTwp28jSc8kkGtGfh5a1mcueTmnQAc_YhW8NTI9DL98-mUQwEak4zNdz8evwAPmoiUobTvkYJbw6A6DjxO3aD8Sutxqh44EZ/s1600/CoJason.grand.canyon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOCXYMFOgwsfTuWMNKCDSNJ_23RK7vw870fmtGEklukzHsQTwp28jSc8kkGtGfh5a1mcueTmnQAc_YhW8NTI9DL98-mUQwEak4zNdz8evwAPmoiUobTvkYJbw6A6DjxO3aD8Sutxqh44EZ/s320/CoJason.grand.canyon.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My niece Colleen shares her birthday with her husband Jason. He's a Nebraska State Trooper, and for the last couple of years, she's been a school secretary. They live in Norfolk, Nebraska, with their three daughters and their dog named Copper. </span></span></span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></i>
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The two met in Omaha while attending Grace University. After 16 years of marriage, this couple is physically fit and financially responsible. I thought it'd be interesting for them to share their lives with the readers of the blog, so I interviewed them about their occupations and interests. </span></span></span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></i>
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">This is Part 1. Part 2 will run next week. </span></span></span></span></i><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>As a state trooper, Jason<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">, you've</span> competed at the national level for vehicle inspection. What all does that entail? Describe the highest level of recognition earned for this. </b></span></span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I was privileged and honored to represent the Nebraska State Patrol in the 2006, 2007, and 2009 North American Inspector’s Championships in New Orleans, Minneapolis, and Pittsburgh. I competed at the state level, placing <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">first</span> place, and then moving on to the National competition in these cities. My best placement overall was 14th in the Nation. The competition consists of a personal interview, hazardous materials table top exercise, a level one inspection, motor coach inspection, and a cargo tank inspection. </span></span></blockquote>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">What's the toughest part about being in law enforcement today? </span></span></b><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Where do I start? You work nights, weekends, and holidays in law enforcement just like those in the healthcare field and fire/rescue. I respond to bad situations such as tornadoes, floods and, fatality crashes. Overall, I feel the schedule can be most challenging and demanding especially when you have a growing family with spouses that work. For the first 10 years of our child rearing, Colleen was able to stay home--which we loved. Money was tight but we tried to live within our means on a written budget. I would not have traded it for anything. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Having a supportive spouse as I do, minimizes the tough schedule at times of working early, working late, changing days off, and being gone for training for days at a time. I absolutely love what I do!</span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The key to all of this in our family is communication<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">.</span> With communication, everybody is on the same page and plays by the same schedule. We can make arrangements and adjustments accordingly and not on a whim which usually leads to frustration and complications in the breakdown of communication. Colleen tries to keep up with my schedule, and I attempt to keep up with hers. We are both committed in our relationship to each other and to our girls.</span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Another tough part is the unknown of my career. I pray daily that God would give me great discretion and judgment in my interactions with people and in both good and bad situations<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">.</span></span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I have gone hands-on with people. I have intentionally disabled cars with police maneuvers. I have arrested subjects for numerous offenses. I take my job and oath very seriously and am always cognizant of the great responsibility and authority given to me by God and the citizens that I serve. </span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5QLZyZg_xit-QrbBGupfMU-UmDEjoGfLOWh0ZJf_CAz_8qNIf27OBl6IkIDlhaH4f6ipxFq6aeAbeR7U3JLZay5LzfROf_Rm3YnQcq7d-LMX7kMjSDYl3bEouIrj9qmRfbtoBF22_f0wo/s1600/Jason.tropper.pic.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5QLZyZg_xit-QrbBGupfMU-UmDEjoGfLOWh0ZJf_CAz_8qNIf27OBl6IkIDlhaH4f6ipxFq6aeAbeR7U3JLZay5LzfROf_Rm3YnQcq7d-LMX7kMjSDYl3bEouIrj9qmRfbtoBF22_f0wo/s320/Jason.tropper.pic.bmp" width="275" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Officer Jason Petty</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">As a young trooper, I would say a “policem<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">a</span>n’s prayer” which I prayed religiously for many years before I started every shift. I believe now it’s not only the words that I speak to God but the meditation of my heart to Him that I strive for today. I believe God is with me if I say a wordy prayer or not. He has promised to never leave me nor forsake me, and His presence is with me wherever I go and whatever I do. </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My prayers now are pretty basic such as, “keep me safe” and “give me great discernment.” </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I do covet and am thankful for the prayers of those committed to pray for me on a regular basis. </span></span></blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Law enforcement now days has gotten a bad rap in the press</span></b></span><b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Mincho"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">—</span></b><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span>even in the Midwest. What's the most positive experience you've encountered in the last couple years? </span></b></span><br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I meet and talk with more people in one day than some do in a month. I am afraid my list of positive experiences with these people would exceed this blog! I meet people in their worst times or moments which can affect the rest of their lives negatively or positively. </span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">For example, nearly six years ago, I was working traffic around the same time as today, November 24, in 2009. I clocked a vehicle at a high rate of speed who I turned on and the chase was on. The vehicle tried to elude me by pulling into a long driveway that led to a farm house. I continued up the road past the house where I observed a man running away from his vehicle. The man was apprehended and arrested for numerous charges including third offense DUI. </span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Fast forward six years. I pulled this same man over who I recognized right away. Conversation led to him being arrested that day. The man finally realized it was me and jokingly said, “So you are the little <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">*</span>*** that caught me.”</span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The man then said <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">something</span> I will never forget, “You saved my life that day.” </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">This man <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">was a</span> chronic alcoholic and went into treatment after being released from jail. A man</span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Mincho"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">—</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">whose marriage, family, and body were suffering the consequences of years of alcohol use and abuse<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Mincho"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">—</span>had found serenity and healing.</span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Most times, you never know the impact that you make on people’s lives, but every once in a while, you get to find out. </span></span></blockquote>
<br />
<b><i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Next Week: another trooper story from Jason, Co's job, the couple's involvement with <a href="http://www.daveramsey.com/home/?snid=home" target="_blank">Dave Ramsey Financial Peace Ministries</a>, and their workout routine to stay physically fit.</span> </span></span></span></span></i></b><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>Melodie Beth Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01491194906557915679noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000784900301227178.post-86779294306752276552015-11-26T14:53:00.001-06:002015-11-26T14:53:25.352-06:00Thankful to be a Child of the 70s: Round 2<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The 1970s don't get enough credit, so I'm here again this Thanksgiving to point out some of my childhood favorites. To read last year's piece, click <a href="http://melodieharris.blogspot.com/2014/11/thankful-to-be-child-of-70s.html" target="_blank">here</a>. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My Room Decor</span></b></span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDZiNkxE2ramysQFHnlYCD5UT5ogbtnwBTL1oxMU_B8HM43GVt3cYB4pbyHIshIGex9Dvk-mNC5MHyd7IkI7yzTzLX4c6SmsEzmyX2g5XLApEEuo-A5LohyphenhyphenNSMl1fYJdKqaX7bdV_D1lW4/s1600/HollyHobbie.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDZiNkxE2ramysQFHnlYCD5UT5ogbtnwBTL1oxMU_B8HM43GVt3cYB4pbyHIshIGex9Dvk-mNC5MHyd7IkI7yzTzLX4c6SmsEzmyX2g5XLApEEuo-A5LohyphenhyphenNSMl1fYJdKqaX7bdV_D1lW4/s320/HollyHobbie.gif" width="176" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">graphic from http://mama-ilse.typepad.com</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">When Grandma Katie was put in the nursing home, Mom redecorated the downstairs bedroom for me. Dad purchased a single bed from an auction at neighbor Pauly Walter's. Read about him <a href="http://melodieharris.blogspot.com/2015/09/i-missed-charlie-brown-special.html" target="_blank">here</a> and read about Grandma Katie <a href="http://melodieharris.blogspot.com/2015/08/adult-reflections-of-life-with-grandma.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Mom bought a Holly Hobbie bedspread and matching window shades. This was the first bedroom that I remember calling mine. Prior to that, I slept in the living room. A <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">crib</span> was in there, and when I got older, I slept on the pull-out love seat because I was too chicken to sleep alone upstairs.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It was in this decorated room that I developed my fear of lightning storms and Big Foot. Long story. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My First Record Album</span></b></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi41QNS-Yb5Gzve32ZmW4ZFDDMTZRvq2YNEXa7lQBb12hPLends4r6_oVKQModCJB42JEXggjGrkN8zz5mLXc2EF_S_RdLTEOT9euoq_HvSKzNuVDWDKpcYBV6fHbF_X4Znn9juX4XPaS2h/s1600/carpenters.singers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi41QNS-Yb5Gzve32ZmW4ZFDDMTZRvq2YNEXa7lQBb12hPLends4r6_oVKQModCJB42JEXggjGrkN8zz5mLXc2EF_S_RdLTEOT9euoq_HvSKzNuVDWDKpcYBV6fHbF_X4Znn9juX4XPaS2h/s320/carpenters.singers.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I bought a 45 of the Carpenter's "Top
of the World" hit at the Ben Franklin store in Huron one Saturday morning. Mom had given me two bucks spending money while she got her hair done.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A few years ago, I bought <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">a</span> Carpenter's greatest hits album and loaded it on my iPod.</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span>When I played the song in preparation <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">for</span> this post, I remembered almost
every word.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">If someone had told me to write down the lyrics, I'm not sure I could have<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">. B</span>ut the<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">memor<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">ies flooded back upon </span></span></span>hearing <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">the mu<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">sic</span></span>.<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Funny how the brain works.</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span>C</span>lick <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M1u6628Rdqs" target="_blank">here</a>
to hear the<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span>lyrics. </span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">For those that don't know, the brother-sister duo of Richard and Karen Carpenter were
known for the harmonic tunes. Karen Carpenter died in 1983 with
complications due to anorexia. Read more about that <a href="http://www.usatoday.com/story/popcandy/2013/02/04/karen-carpenter-death-anniversary/1890355/" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="http://www.people.com/people/archive/article/0,,20198418,00.html" target="_blank">here</a>. It was during the 80s, my high school years, when eating disorders became a topic of public concern. The Denver Post ran a book review piece about the Karen Carpenter story. Click <a href="http://www.denverpost.com/reviews/ci_15580569" target="_blank">here</a> to read it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A Candy My Family Liked</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The combination of chocolate and caramel was found in a Rothchild's nugget. The tasty tidbit is similar to a Rolo.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The company's marketing campaign including a silly saying <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">performed <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">in</span></span> a British accent. Click <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tb3jAtSzSrs" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hD3edrGj85o" target="_blank">here</a> for a couple of those commercials. I know, corny, but catchy.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My dad and brother Elliott would often repeat the famous line, "Not now, I'm right in the middle of a Rothchild's" to anyone they talked to. They even answered the phone that way sometimes. Read more about my brother's antics <a href="http://melodieharris.blogspot.com/2015/11/his-cb-handle-was-auditor.html" target="_blank">here</a>. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The Rothchild's saying lightened anyone's mood. I wish this candy was still around. Don't know what happened to it. Or the Marathon Bar. Or Freshen-Up gum. Or Melody Pops, the sucker with a whistle.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A Favorite Saturday Morning Show</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The time travel show, "The Land of the Lost," started in the 70s, not the early 90s when Hollywood attempted a re-make. I never watched it; maybe I should have. Watch a trailer of the 1970s version <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nCpScBIm0lk" target="_blank">here</a>.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The graphics? My goodness. So fake. But back then I didn't care. I liked the story line, or should I say, the older brother. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The music? Too upbeat for what happened to this family.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My husband Chris says the Sleestak creatures still give him the creeps. You can see the critters <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VOa2sVws-m4" target="_blank">here</a> in the entire first episode.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>What memories do you have of these 70s icons? For my younger readers, feel free to critique my child-of-the-70s favorites.</b></span></span></span><br />
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Melodie Beth Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01491194906557915679noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9000784900301227178.post-72979724816117638322015-11-22T17:46:00.000-06:002015-11-22T17:46:17.319-06:00My Hotel Pet Peeves<span style="font-size: small;">The holiday season brings travel for many of us that require a stay in a hotel. I prefer Holiday Inn Express for their breakfasts, workout rooms, and overall service. But I still have a few pet peeves. Some due to my own quirkiness. Enjoy.<br /> </span><br />
<u><b><span style="font-size: small;">One</span></b></u><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Bed sheets are tucked in military style. My toes and feet prefer freedom, so I go around the bed and pull up the sheets and blankets before I even hop in.</span><br />
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<u><b><span style="font-size: small;">Two</span></b></u><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Mirror with no table in front of it. I can't put on make-up by it then, and I don't use the bathroom mirror because it's too steamy if someone has showered. The light in there is too bright anyway. Yes, you read that correctly. If the lighting is too good, I'll start picking zits, a bad-bad habit. Girls at college would tell me, "I never picked zits or split end until I met you!" I'm so over that, but now, due to my age, I look for facial hair—especially those little black whiskers that feel like they're an inch long.</span><br />
<br />
<u><b><span style="font-size: small;">Three</span></b></u><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">The heat and air. Hard to regulate. And sometimes there's a clicking noise.</span><br />
<br />
<u><b><span style="font-size: small;">Four</span></b></u><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">No noise. We sleep with the soothing hum of a floor fan at home, so we run the air fan in the bathroom or turn on the manual fan on the heat and air unit. Without that running, if it's too quiet at night, I hear every creak. Or door opening. Or toilet flushing. Even if hotel guests are a bit noisy, the low hum of a fan will drown out the sounds—if the dreaded clicking sound doesn't emerge.</span><br />
<br />
<u><b><span style="font-size: small;">Five</span></b></u><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Lack of towels. I want three. One for hair and face. Another for body. One for my pillow—to catch the drool and soak up my wet hair. Front desk personnel seem perplexed whenever I ask for more. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><u><b>A True Story</b></u> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Recently, the place didn't have any extra towels. All used up in the pool area. Guess what they gave us? The extra bath mats. Kind of stiff for a towel. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I can't remember where that happened. Maybe it was the hotel in Effingham, Illinois. Yes, that is the name of the place. We were on our way to Ohio to visit Lawrence and Tammy, Chris' brother and his wife. It took us an hour and half and nearly ten stops in three different large towns to find a hotel in the middle of July 2014. The hotels were booked. All due to a bagel festival.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Yes, a bagel festival. Don't believe me? Click <a href="http://www.mattoonbagelfest.com/">here</a>. </span><br />
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<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Any hotel pet peeves to add to the list? Or how about sharing one of your funny hotel stories with our readers?</b></span></span><br />
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Melodie Beth Harrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01491194906557915679noreply@blogger.com4