tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9520251622210582292024-03-12T23:14:09.570-04:00Anything But BeigeMy thoughts and feelings on writing and on any subject that may pique my interest during any given week. I'm open and honest (though I've been told that I'm too honest sometimes) and I'll write that way.
www.barbarabeige.comBarbara Beigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09366173684776600667noreply@blogger.comBlogger102125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-952025162221058229.post-51515645732432903012015-07-22T11:51:00.001-04:002015-07-22T11:55:45.142-04:00The Time of the Chrysalis<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
As the third year anniversary of my
<a href="http://www.traumaticbraininjury.com/" target="_blank">brain injury</a> has somehow come and gone, it has gotten me to reflect a
bit more. This has been bigger than anything I've ever dealt with
before. (And, as you know, I've been through a lot!) I feel
frustration on a daily basis. Frustration over my ongoing limitations
and lack of being able to do even a portion of what I once could do.
Frustration over not feeling like I can remember even basic things.
I've had to learn tricks and double up on my checklists just to
function. And, even then, I don't always feel successful.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I know I've been <a href="http://barbarabeige.blogspot.com/2012_05_01_archive.html" target="_blank">fighting this injury</a>.
It has been hard for me to accept who I am now. Is this my new
normal? I don't like the idea of having a permanent disability. I
never thought I would end up in <i>that</i> category. I know three
years isn't what I should consider permanent yet but it sure seems
like a long time. I have had some improvements since those early days
but no real Hallelujah-angels singing-miracle kind of moments. Even
if they're small improvements, I hope to have more. It's been hard
dealing with vertigo and balance issues, constant <a href="http://barbarabeige.blogspot.com/2013_08_01_archive.html" target="_blank">memory flubs</a>,
visual and auditory overload, fatigue and headaches on a daily basis
when those things were NEVER an issue.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There has also been an immense
financial frustration. Anyone who thinks you can readily survive
without a regular paycheck is highly mistaken. And, what's supposed
to be in place to help is also greatly lacking. Who needs extra
financial struggles when they are going through life-altering medical
issues? No one. Oh, and have your regular medical checkup options
taken away? No worries there, huh?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I try not to complain and most people
wouldn't know by looking at me that there is anything “wrong”
with me. Brain injury is one of those “invisible” issues like
Lyme, Chronic Fatigue and even Cancer. The, “<a href="http://barbarabeige.blogspot.com/2012/11/but-you-look-fine.html" target="_blank">But you look fine</a>,”
attitude still plagues me and those like me.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
If I do too much and don't pace myself,
I pay for it for days afterwards. There is no “pushing through it.”
Things like shopping are usually a race-like event because time spent
under fluorescent lights is exhausting and headache inducing (more
like increasing because I always have a headache). And, no,
sunglasses do not help to take the flicker away that I see from the
lights, nor do they help with the overload of stimulus all around me.
Then, there's the trying to get my mind to make decisions. Just
looking for a product on a shelf can be absolutely overwhelming with
the flickering and everything else going on. Then add in, trying to
hurry.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The hardest part of this brain injury,
I know, is the pressure I put on myself. The pressure to still be who
I was and do what I could. I am lucky that I have a great support
system of friends and family and a <a href="http://barbarabeige.blogspot.com/2012/10/butch-leaning.html" target="_blank">loving partner</a> who watches out for
me and does all the things that I can't do (despite her just
finishing treatments for Stage IV cervical cancer!)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wkB5N6H7wiU/Va-y6EL9DSI/AAAAAAAABMM/om_YAoU1s1Q/s1600/IMG_4414.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wkB5N6H7wiU/Va-y6EL9DSI/AAAAAAAABMM/om_YAoU1s1Q/s320/IMG_4414.JPG" width="320" /></a>I had a little thought the other day
that maybe I'm like a butterfly? Well, the life I had before the
brain injury was my caterpillar stage. I was busy growing, exploring,
experiencing life with a super high activity level. Non-stop hunger
for living go go go. Cramming as much into every day that I possibly
could. And, like a caterpillar, I even <a href="http://barbarabeige.blogspot.com/2011/05/coming-outits-scary-thing.html" target="_blank">shed my skin a few times</a> to
become the adult I thought I was.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Now, if I continue with that same
metaphor, I'm currently in my chrysalis stage. It's a time of great
stillness (like, 35 pounds of extra stillness...but I'm working on that the best I can). To be able to cocoon
would normally seem like a glorious thing to an ordinary person, aka
caterpillar. Just like a vacation, you might think. But, this has
been a stage that I had no choice about making. I haven't even had
normal thoughts inside my head since I entered this stage. It
literally makes my brain hurt to choose words and to even think
sometimes. Doing what one would think are simple things can put you
in overload and physically exhaust you. Just tipping my head one too
many times can bring on extra vertigo which then could lead to a
migraine. And, that is never fun.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_MpLXsZFFYE/Va-zSliqekI/AAAAAAAABMU/BWnKX8KW3dE/s1600/IMG_4544.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_MpLXsZFFYE/Va-zSliqekI/AAAAAAAABMU/BWnKX8KW3dE/s320/IMG_4544.JPG" width="320" /></a>You'd think it would be a great time to
learn an instrument or even a new language. Learning new things feels
next to impossible with the memory issues at hand. Plus, the extra
sounds of an instrument can be too much on my head. It took over a
year before I could listen to music and even that is without other
distractions on a “good head day.” I miss going out to hear all
my <a href="https://www.reverbnation.com/theoverezband" target="_blank">friends who play in bands</a> or <a href="http://brandicarlile.com/" target="_blank">cranking the music</a> on a sunny day
while driving to nowhere in particular. Even trying to read has been
quite the experience. Reading. Re-reading. Re-reading some more. Not
remembering characters or <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Lives-Captain-Bluebear-Walter-Moers/dp/1585678449" target="_blank">what is going on in a book</a> from day to day
isn't exactly enjoyable. Forget about trying to write another book
with those challenges!</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, as you can also probably tell,
trying to stay the happy, upbeat me is also challenging. I try to
find gratitude in every day; be thankful for the little things. Many
of my friends with brain injuries benefit from medications to help
with that. After trying dozens, I've found that they all have the
opposite effect on me. And, that's never a good thing.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'm hoping this 'restful'
pupa/chrysalis stage is just that. A period of real brain healing. A
period where I become more appreciative of what human beings can and
cannot do. A period of realizing the fragility of our brains and life
in general and the importance of <a href="http://www.cdc.gov/headsup/" target="_blank">concussion awareness in sports</a> (and
the workplace). A period of realizing what true patience is. A period
of figuring out what I can still do to continue on my goal of making
a difference in the world during this lifetime. A period with a
definitive end to it would also be nice...</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HDGbsLLA9Fw/Va-2ULJwYLI/AAAAAAAABM8/qbJvJ5QYlxU/s1600/butterfly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HDGbsLLA9Fw/Va-2ULJwYLI/AAAAAAAABM8/qbJvJ5QYlxU/s320/butterfly.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And, when all that is ready to happen,
I hopefully will emerge into the new and improved butterfly version
of me. It may be a version of me that is different than my former
self and I will have to accept that I'm not a caterpillar anymore.
I'll finally have a set of wings and I'll fly.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="http://www.barbarabeige.com/">www.barbarabeige.com</a></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
Barbara Beigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09366173684776600667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-952025162221058229.post-76797195252763752372013-10-25T13:10:00.000-04:002013-10-25T13:10:04.956-04:00The DeLorean vs the Faggot<div class="MsoNormal">
Recently, I was waiting at one of those forever lights to
make a left into the local grocery store plaza. You know the kind. The ones
where there are somehow ninety different ways people can come and go? The ones
where when you get there with the green arrow in your favor, you feel like
you’ve won the lottery? Yea. One of those.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I got there just as my arrow turned red. But, it was okay.
It was an absolutely beautiful day. Temperatures were in the mid 60s, skies
were as blue as all get out, that fall smell was in the air, leaves on
surrounding trees were vibrant in the warm palette. There was nothing remotely
bad about the day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, I was just sitting there. Enjoying it all. When, in the
opposite lane, I saw a glimpse of stainless steel. Could it be? Really?
Stainless steel? Yep. There it was, driving past me. The confirming DMC on the
front grill. I gasped or ooh-ed or something I’m sure of it. And I turned my
head to follow it as far as I could swivel, trying to take it all in.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Sweet,” definitely came from my lips.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was a DeLorean. A DeLorean! You know, the car from the
movie, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0088763/" target="_blank">Back To The Future</a>? With <a href="https://www.michaeljfox.org/" target="_blank">Michael J. Fox</a> as Marty McFly? Who goes back in
a DeLorean time machine and has to get his parents to meet so he can be born? The
DeLorean with the flux capacitor? And the 1.21 gigawatts of electricity needed
to start it in 1955? The one with, “Roads? Where we’re going, we don’t need
roads,” <a href="http://delorean.com/" target="_blank">DeLorean</a>? I happen to love DeLoreans. And, that movie.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-psqhc_nEaj4/UmqfitBgnqI/AAAAAAAAA0o/H4vHmv3sT5o/s1600/Back+to+the+future+DeLorean+back+dvd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-psqhc_nEaj4/UmqfitBgnqI/AAAAAAAAA0o/H4vHmv3sT5o/s1600/Back+to+the+future+DeLorean+back+dvd.jpg" height="204" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I hope I never look that old when I get in and out of my DeLorean...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All that shiny, stainless steel. The clean lines of an
Italian designed car. The gull-wing doors. It has gull-winged doors! Ooh, how I
would love a car with those. You could squeeze into a parking spot with only a
foot of clearance and get out with more room than you could with a “normal”
door. And, I’d love to hear ‘psshhh’ every time I opened my door. Like I had
been vacuum-sealed inside. Gosh, I hope that isn’t just a movie sound effect…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, I’m still sitting at the forever light, windows half
down, warm breeze blowing in, my mind buzzing about the DeLorean. Thinking back
to how when I was a kid, the neighbor through the woods on the street way
behind ours had one. Must have been brand new. It was the early 80s. The only
time they were production made (totally brand new that is...they still make 'em!). I’d ride my bike over there
often trying to catch glimpses of the car. I was mesmerized by it. Sure beat
the giant “wood” paneled, gargantuan, behemoth of a station wagon we had in our
driveway. Then, the movie came out in 1985…those were the days.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GsOYJ3_owtA/Umqfuu_x0MI/AAAAAAAAA0w/p9VEJFl2FG8/s1600/Back+to+the+Future+dvd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GsOYJ3_owtA/Umqfuu_x0MI/AAAAAAAAA0w/p9VEJFl2FG8/s1600/Back+to+the+Future+dvd.jpg" height="320" width="206" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My dvd with sticker goop still on the cover. I'll have to scrape that off.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In my head I’m thinking how I can’t wait to tell <a href="http://barbarabeige.blogspot.com/2012/10/butch-leaning.html" target="_blank">Five Eleven</a>
about my spotting when I get home or even <a href="https://twitter.com/Ybbeige" target="_blank">tweet</a> about it. I’m honestly excited
by it. Made my good day even better. But then, as I finally get the green arrow
and the traffic beside me gets to go straight through, someone (in a
non-descript, plain ol’ car) yells at me just as they are past me...</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Faggot!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Really? Faggot? Directed at me? What? You wait until you are
past me to call me that? Coward. Seriously still? Faggot? I’m blown away. Hurt
actually. I guess coming out later in life and living in a progressive area, I was
never exposed to such a derogatory remark. At least to my face (well, even this
wasn’t that).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, as I was waiting at the signal, thinking only good
thoughts about one of my dream cars and playing movie quotes in my head,
someone was behind me, focusing their energy on my rainbow peace sign,
supportive gay marriage bumper sticker (which did pass and we do have legally
in this state. Get over it), and thinking negative things. Really?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-M6n6UfI8cK8/Umqf4SlP7lI/AAAAAAAAA1A/3DnJN_jQnNA/s1600/My+gay+subaru+closed+minds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-M6n6UfI8cK8/Umqf4SlP7lI/AAAAAAAAA1A/3DnJN_jQnNA/s1600/My+gay+subaru+closed+minds.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Obviously, they didn't read this one...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vzwyOS3Y4Tg/Umqf4SezypI/AAAAAAAAA08/nvbGvBWfiCk/s1600/My+gay+subaru+peace+sign.jpg" height="320" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Were these what prompted the 'Faggot' slur?<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Life is so short. And, as I know, your life and things you
can do, can change in a moment. Why not focus on positives and world peace and
treating all people nicely? You know, that fluffy bunny, happy rainbow stuff
that I’m all about? Gosh, if only we could go back to the future and change
things and perceptions. But, what would we use as a time machine?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
@Ybbeige</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://facebook.com/barbarabeige">http://facebook.com/barbarabeige</a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Unexpectations-Barbara-Beige-ebook/dp/B005H5GGCE" target="_blank">Story of love, loss, hope, new love & coming out:Unexpectations</a></div>
Barbara Beigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09366173684776600667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-952025162221058229.post-26343668307250100502013-10-15T19:43:00.001-04:002013-10-15T19:44:04.849-04:00It’s All Fun & Games Until Someone Eats a Caterpillar<div class="MsoNormal">
There is nothing quite like having your own garden. With
only the initial cost of <a href="http://www.burpee.com/" target="_blank">some seeds</a> or a few 6-packs of plants and some TLC,
you have an abundance of almost free food. Unfortunately, for our short growing
season and really wet summer, it seems like everything ripened and was ready at
once.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s not always a bad thing. Veggies are good for us after
all. It just means having tomato sandwiches, Swiss chard patties, green
smoothies and steamed veggies day after day. Meal after meal. I’m lucky that
one of my favorites, steamed broccoli with cheese sauce on it was readily
available.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How much more fresh of a meal can you get than throwing on a
pot of salted water with a steamer basket in it, going outside your side door
and cutting a few chunks of broccoli off a plant, rinsing it off, cooking it
and plating it? Maybe ten minutes to Voila! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Seems like an ideal dinner or lunch, huh? Green. Healthy.
Cancer-fighting properties in the cruciferous broccoli. I had this many, many
times until I had gone back to the stove once for a second helping and noticed
a special addition to the steamer basket. Let me present you with Exhibit A.
Or, maybe I should call it Exhibit C for caterpillar.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-W6wBdzKlO4s/Ul3L_pTl0uI/AAAAAAAAAzo/AH3lM6c78xc/s1600/caterpillar+in+steamer+Barbara+Beige.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-W6wBdzKlO4s/Ul3L_pTl0uI/AAAAAAAAAzo/AH3lM6c78xc/s1600/caterpillar+in+steamer+Barbara+Beige.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exhibit C for Caterpillar. Or, P for Extra protein.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yea, that’s right. Ca-ter-pil-lar. I was just as ewwed out
as you probably are right now thinking about it. But, I was there seeing it.
Live. In the flesh. Well, it wasn’t live. It was steamed. But it was there.
Plump as all get out. In front of me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hmm…a steamed caterpillar? That’s gross,” I thought. And
then, it hit me. How many caterpillars had stayed intertwined in the web of
that dense greenery? And, if so, how many had I eaten?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jriWzok_HG0/Ul3Mc0u3OdI/AAAAAAAAAzw/Ihxnw17f2ME/s1600/caterpillar+on+plant+Barbara+Beige.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jriWzok_HG0/Ul3Mc0u3OdI/AAAAAAAAAzw/Ihxnw17f2ME/s1600/caterpillar+on+plant+Barbara+Beige.jpg" height="209" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These buggers ended up on my tomato plants when they ran out of broccoli and cauliflower to eat.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My stomach instantly flipped. Thank goodness I have no gag
reflex, or there could have been a mess. I know that most of the world
willingly eats insects and I know they are high in protein. They eat them on
<a href="http://www.cbs.com/shows/survivor/video/?ttag=mktg_ntp_SR_vid_0215_go" target="_blank">Survivor</a> and provide sustenance in wilderness situations, as my guy, <a href="http://www.beargrylls.com/" target="_blank">Bear Grylls</a> does.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zWDIeOFV6L4/Ul3Mt08GRRI/AAAAAAAAAz4/7kcibFSAvMo/s1600/caterpillar+from+fridge+Barbara+Beige.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zWDIeOFV6L4/Ul3Mt08GRRI/AAAAAAAAAz4/7kcibFSAvMo/s1600/caterpillar+from+fridge+Barbara+Beige.jpg" height="225" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This one ended up in my veggie crisper drawer. Too many bugs in my kitchen for my taste.<br />
This website offers all sorts of <a href="http://www.eattheweeds.com/bug-a-boos-or-grubs-up/" target="_blank">information on eating bugs</a> if you want to try eating them.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now, I’ll admit that I’ve often considered catching,
roasting and then chocolate dipping June bugs but I just haven’t caught enough
to bother. (They are supposed to be a delicacy and I haven’t had them once
since living in <st1:place w:st="on">New England</st1:place>). But, there is
something different about a crunchy, toasted morsel vs a squishy ol’ worm sack
to try to intentionally eat.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0_ffziECpto/Ul3RbWgdEZI/AAAAAAAAA0E/kTREm15DY_o/s1600/caterpillar+crispiness+Barbara+Beige.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0_ffziECpto/Ul3RbWgdEZI/AAAAAAAAA0E/kTREm15DY_o/s1600/caterpillar+crispiness+Barbara+Beige.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Okay, so I actually tried these. Pretty tasty if I do say so myself...It's that crispy vs squishy thing. <a href="http://www.bulkcandystore.com/Larvets-Original-Worm-Snax-BBQ-P454.aspx" target="_blank">Wanna try?</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It mostly comes down to texture. And legs. All those little
legs…so not appetizing in my book (I heard you pull off the June bug legs
before chocolate dipping). Those legs are what I noticed one evening on Five
Eleven’s plate. We had finished a candlelight dinner of grilled steak, seasoned
French fries, fresh garden tomato slices and steamed broccoli, also directly
out of the garden. <a href="http://barbarabeige.blogspot.com/2012/05/baby-photo-dating-story.html" target="_blank">Five Eleven </a>had left several fries on her plate next to her
bone and that’s when I saw it as I began clearing the table. I saw the legs. I
nonchalantly reached down to grab that little critter off her place while she
was still seated at the table.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What was that?” she asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Nothing,” I replied while holding the soft, little tube
sack in my hand.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Was that a bug?” She knew my steamer story.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Gosh, no. I wouldn’t serve you those.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And, yet, I did. It must have clung to the broccoli just
until it got to her plate and fell off and camouflaged itself against the
French fries. Thank goodness they were <a href="http://www.oreida.com/Products/G/Golden-Crinkles#.Ul3OjNKsiSo" target="_blank">crinkle-cut fries</a> or she may have
spotted it sooner. And, instantly hurled. Seriously. She would have. And, that
would have been a romantical evening killer. It’s all fun and games until
somebody eats a caterpillar.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
@Ybbeige</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Unexpectations-Barbara-Beige-ebook/dp/B005H5GGCE" target="_blank">My Chick Flick read...Unexpectations</a></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Barbara Beigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09366173684776600667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-952025162221058229.post-12144358954131061312013-08-13T21:25:00.000-04:002013-08-13T21:25:25.812-04:00Totally No Recall<div class="MsoNormal">
I experienced the <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0086491/" target="_blank">Twilight Zone</a>. Well, something that seemed
equally sci-fi that I just couldn’t wrap my head around. Maybe it was because
my mind just didn’t seem to be working. It was a bit frightening actually.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Imagine someone telling you that you did something or that
something happened in your life for four days and you couldn’t recall it? Not
one bit. It’s really quite freaky. Makes your brain hurt, literally, just
trying to remember. Here’s how things went:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Little One and I got into the car to go somewhere (don’t ask
me to remember that part either). As we sat in the driveway, I noticed a lot of
what looked like critter hair between the front seats.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That’s weird,” I said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What?” replied Little One.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That looks like dog hair,” I said pointing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It is.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But, <a href="http://barbarabeige.blogspot.com/2012/05/baby-photo-dating-story.html" target="_blank">Five Eleven</a> just vacuumed and detailed the car. It
was spotless,” I said remembering that I knew she had definitely detailed my
car. “When was a dog here?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Last week when you drove them to the beach to walk.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Who?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Jeep Girl and Delilah.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“They were here?” I asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Umm…for like four nights.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At first it felt like a practical joke. Like Little One was
teasing with me. Then it momentarily got scary.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Did I take pictures while they were here?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yea, especially of Delilah’s butt when she was eating ice cream
in the car.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-glbwxCUx6_Q/UgrOUYxUaXI/AAAAAAAAAxI/vIIzSNZdppM/s1600/IMG_20130703_193452_974.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-glbwxCUx6_Q/UgrOUYxUaXI/AAAAAAAAAxI/vIIzSNZdppM/s1600/IMG_20130703_193452_974.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't know if I'd recommend eating ice cream like this unless you are a little doggie.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I looked at my phone. Sure enough, there were pictures of a
dog’s bun-hole. Oh, and us getting ice cream. I can now totally hear Jeep
Girl’s laugh in my head. We were laughing about something. Must have been about
Delilah’s (aka the lesbian <a href="http://www.newrattitude.org/dogs.htm" target="_blank">rat-terrier</a>’s) bun-hole. But, we also laugh about a
lot of things when we are together. I looked in my <a href="http://www.daytimer.com/daytimerstore/mwv/subcat/DTIME_MainNav/Day-Planners/Day_Planners_80?pageName=catPage&rootCatId=Day_Planners_80&isSubCategory=true&catId=Day_Planners_80&couponId=198585&gclid=CMrRoPzf-7gCFQya4Aod6AsAuA" target="_blank">day planner</a>. Days of their
visit were marked by a long, continuous arrow.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5ctT2m6OpBQ/UgrOUexKVzI/AAAAAAAAAxM/amqJNfxRh8Y/s1600/IMG_20130624_120935_203.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5ctT2m6OpBQ/UgrOUexKVzI/AAAAAAAAAxM/amqJNfxRh8Y/s1600/IMG_20130624_120935_203.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How could I possibly have forgotten this face? </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now, my not remembering this should not in any way make you
think that Jeep Girl and Delilah are so snoozy that I’d forget about their
visit. On the contrary, <a href="http://www.jeep.com/" target="_blank">Jeep</a> Girl is a great, interesting, adventurous,
outdoorsy person with the absolute, best laugh. (So, if you are an available,
cute, sporty girl in the <st1:place w:st="on"><a href="http://www.centralmass.org/" target="_blank">Central Massachusetts</a></st1:place>
area…she is also available).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qEEDaXLWJuE/UgrOTtm2qKI/AAAAAAAAAxA/9GQgeOxS0vs/s1600/totally+no+recall+delilah+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qEEDaXLWJuE/UgrOTtm2qKI/AAAAAAAAAxA/9GQgeOxS0vs/s1600/totally+no+recall+delilah+1.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yep. Proof of the puppy on the beach.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s now taken me several weeks to piece together more of
their visit. Things are coming back. Sometimes those memories are triggered by
something that just gets me thinking. At least I can remember their visit
perhaps until I stop thinking about it and trying to remember it. Then, it’ll
be like much of my current life with <a href="http://www.postconcussionsyndrome.net/" target="_blank">post-concussive syndrome</a>…having memory
losses.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, if you come to visit me, make sure that I take lots of
pictures on my phone and maybe make me jot things down in my day planner. But,
if you don’t come to visit me, please don’t mess with me and tell me that you
did.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I so know that you’re thinking about doing that…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
@Ybbeige</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://facebook.com/barbarabeige">http://facebook.com/barbarabeige</a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Unexpectations-ebook/dp/B005H5GGCE" target="_blank">A Chicky Beach Read</a></div>
Barbara Beigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09366173684776600667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-952025162221058229.post-54053323123425100842013-07-04T15:48:00.000-04:002013-07-04T15:48:00.228-04:00Not My Type: The New Reality Show<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>I’ll take the sporty
blonde for 200, please.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As many of you may remember from <a href="http://www.barbarabeige.blogspot.com/2012/05/baby-photo-dating-story.html" target="_blank">The Baby Photo DatingStory</a>, I started seeing someone who was “not my type.” I hemmed and hawed for a
bit when we were just friends about taking things to the next level. Having
mentioned that Five Eleven wasn’t my type while talking with My Sister the
Pharmacist at the time, she gave me the best tidbit imaginable. She said,
“Well, dating your type obviously isn’t working for you, is it?” Whoa. So true.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But, you know, Five Eleven <i>is </i>my type. She has all the characteristics of the perfect woman
and perfect partner that I’ve always wanted. She’s caring and loving. Romantic,
funny, sweet. She’s helpful, smart, sexy, creative, thoughtful, handy…and on
and on. Plus, she’s absolutely crazy about me. What’s not to love and what’s
not my type?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Uu-QGVO2fA4/UdXOMTWyEzI/AAAAAAAAAvE/wZff4l01CHc/s612/not+my+type+fortune+cookie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Uu-QGVO2fA4/UdXOMTWyEzI/AAAAAAAAAvE/wZff4l01CHc/s612/not+my+type+fortune+cookie.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kinda like <a href="http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/a/alberteins133991.html" target="_blank">Einstein's quote</a> on the definition of insanity...doing the same thing<br />over and over and expecting a different outcome. Dating the same type can feel like Insanity.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just because she didn’t fit into my typical physical
what-I-was-attracted-to-before traits, I almost lost out on the best thing I’ve
ever had. I used to tend towards the more sporty, feminine-edged lesbians. Not
the girly, feminine girls either (those aren’t my type). Very rarely did I do a
double take at a <a href="http://www.barbarabeige.blogspot.com/2012/10/butch-leaning.html" target="_blank">Boi or more Butch</a>y-edged lesbian with the thought of perhaps
dating. When we were “just friends,” I even told Five Eleven several times that
she wasn’t my type. Dang, what a heartbreaker I was…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, lately, I’ve been repeatedly giving this “not-my-type”
advice to several friends. One of which is a straight friend who wasn’t having
much luck dating in the last several years. I think she has finally got it!
She’s dating a guy closer in her age range (though she doesn’t look her age).
This weeded out the ones who don’t know what they want or the ones with young
kids which she doesn’t want to do anymore. Responsible, working men who may not
own their own companies and several houses will be there to lavish more
attention on her which is her type. They also can spend time cuddling on the
couch watching sporting events like she likes to do.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We are all so quick to judge people based on what they look
like on the outside. That’s why shows like <a href="http://www.nbc.com/the-voice/" target="_blank">The Voice</a> have come into play. You
only initially judge the singer on their voice versus seeing who you’re
listening to which may actually influence you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think that’s where I lucked out with Five Eleven. We
started talking long-distance just as friends. I fell in love with her from the
inside out. Now, when I see her, or when she sends a pic to <a href="http://www.motorola.com/us/consumers/DROID-MAXX/better-battery/96406,en_US,pd.html" target="_blank">my phone</a>, my
insides just melt. She is so physically my type.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, I think there should be a new, reality dating show
called “Not My Type.” Find out what people want in a partner. Find out what
their type is…what are they looking for in a relationship? If it’s blue-eyed,
blonde-haired movie star look, see what about that is absolutely necessary. If
they’re looking for someone who is funny and who loves <a href="http://www.cmt.com/" target="_blank">country music</a>, cooking
at home together and <a href="http://www.mountainbike.com/mountainbikecom" target="_blank">mountain biking</a>, how is the blonde hair and chiseled jaw
going to help that? Seriously?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe start them off just talking on the phone for several
“dates?” You can tell a lot by the sound of someone’s voice. Does their voice
irritate the heck out of you? Intrigue you? Excite you? Calm you? (I told Five
Eleven that she had a sexy voice the first time I heard her…even as friends).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And, hey, how about what they actually say? Do you connect
with them? Have things in common? Do you like how they think? What do they want
in a relationship? What have they had? How would they change things? What kind
of future do they see for themselves? Does your conversation flow? Do you
always have things to talk about? Are the quiet moments okay?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Those should be the things that really matter. Those
connections and similarities make someone our type. Yes, physical traits and
chemistry play a part. If you’re active and tend towards the athletic, you’ll
hear how they run or hike in the stories they tell. And, if they aren’t in top
physical shape, but would like to be more active again, you’ll have something
to do together if that’s important to you. Just be honest.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Being truly honest is required. No <a href="http://www.barbarabeige.blogspot.com/2013/01/so-you-finally-met-your-girlfriend-and.html" target="_blank">cat-fishing</a> allowed. (See
that’s where the physical stuff comes into play more so than who they really
are). You can’t lie and say you like something or you like to do something when
you have no real interest in it. You need commonalities and knowledge up front.
At least the realization of them. Don’t waste everyone’s time. You can have
differences, of course, but some likes have to be there.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Are there things that Five Eleven and I don’t have in
common? Yes. For one thing, I love the ocean and swimming. She doesn’t. At all.
Will that work? Yes. She likes the beach and the outdoors. She can watch me
<a href="http://www.ebodyboarding.com/" target="_blank">boogie board</a> or <a href="http://www.barbarabeige.blogspot.com/2012/11/born-to-surf-just-havent-done-it-yet.html" target="_blank">one day surf</a> in the big waves and I can resuscitate her from
her panic when I come back to shore. She can free-climb cliffs or repel down
rock faces while it’s my turn to panic from down below (there’s no way I’m
hanging off the top of a cliff to watch her). Important thing is we’ll be
together in nature, which we both love. Thank goodness she is my type. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, on this reality show, after the face-to-face date, when
this “not-my-type” person turns out to be brown-haired and brown-eyed, is that
really a deal breaker from everything you learned about them? What if they are
the same height as you and you say your type is taller? Why do we have so many
pre-conceived notions of what we want physically? Have those physical traits
made a difference in your relationship before? Did it work out for you?
Obviously not if you’re out looking again. What if this person who doesn’t fit
your “type” turns out to be the most amazing partner, lover and friend? Would
have been a shame to pass them up just because they weren’t blonde, huh? So,
maybe it’s time to start making some real, life-lasting connections instead?
Then, “Not My Type” just might become My Type.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Are you with someone
who wasn’t your type? What makes for a good partner? Please share
below!<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
@Ybbeige</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.barbarabeige.com/" target="_blank">Erica Harding</a> finds someone who wasn’t her type in this
novel, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Unexpectations-ebook/dp/B005H5GGCE" target="_blank">Unexpectations</a>.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Barbara Beigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09366173684776600667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-952025162221058229.post-33749697173343352762013-06-05T17:53:00.001-04:002013-06-05T17:53:47.720-04:00Vignettes of the Spring Garden<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
I've been trying to take in more of this spring. I feel like I missed last year with my head injury and all. I still keep a journal of my daily things so I can remember what I did when I can't. Since I'm not on the go as much either, I'm learning to try to look at even the smaller things. I've always liked looking at them but I think that I really haven't had much of a choice. It's good though. Taking a moment to take in the beauty that nature has to offer. Seeing it. Breathing it in and then capturing it on film. (Well, the digital sort). Here are some shots of my garden that I'd like to share with you.<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="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fTXYKC1jNnc/Ua-pQxOg4cI/AAAAAAAAAsA/ZpbzBgnayg0/s1600/shot_1368711786547.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fTXYKC1jNnc/Ua-pQxOg4cI/AAAAAAAAAsA/ZpbzBgnayg0/s1600/shot_1368711786547.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is a fruit tree of some sort. I'm not usually a pink girl, but the blooms are<br />quite stunning. Then, I love when it has dropped its petals like colorful snow.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YmVA52PyviI/Ua-pQwnyv3I/AAAAAAAAAr4/efmjvBzlnb8/s1600/shot_1367951888301.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YmVA52PyviI/Ua-pQwnyv3I/AAAAAAAAAr4/efmjvBzlnb8/s1600/shot_1367951888301.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These grape hyacinths were among the first flowers that bloomed this year.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GVR81nGYqug/Ua-pSIOjRCI/AAAAAAAAAsM/rgATVaRbFMo/s1600/shot_1370118347478.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GVR81nGYqug/Ua-pSIOjRCI/AAAAAAAAAsM/rgATVaRbFMo/s1600/shot_1370118347478.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These bearded iris are such a sunny yellow color. Their scent is beyond<br />sweet. Reminds me of a woman. I picked some to enjoy inside. In the background<br />is cranesbill which some people seem to call geranium around here.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xDRHWl6hDyI/Ua-pSekq7tI/AAAAAAAAAsY/Kab0Dt-cPFo/s1600/shot_1370118925955.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xDRHWl6hDyI/Ua-pSekq7tI/AAAAAAAAAsY/Kab0Dt-cPFo/s1600/shot_1370118925955.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The peony (I stress the accent on the first syllable) is so heavy that you<br />really do need to support it with a peony ring or stake. Those fabulous graphic<br />leaves behind it are lance corporal fleeceflower.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6OtKQ5C5O5A/Ua-pSgYB3yI/AAAAAAAAAsQ/PayKlOZ9YbY/s1600/shot_1370356361701.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6OtKQ5C5O5A/Ua-pSgYB3yI/AAAAAAAAAsQ/PayKlOZ9YbY/s1600/shot_1370356361701.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This poor butterfly was missing a chunk of his wing. Despite the "bite," he seemed<br />to be getting about okay. He was here visiting the chive flowers.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rlSPP9Dg1EI/Ua-pUBLz1WI/AAAAAAAAAsg/jpCa7dISWkc/s1600/shot_1370377702111.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rlSPP9Dg1EI/Ua-pUBLz1WI/AAAAAAAAAsg/jpCa7dISWkc/s1600/shot_1370377702111.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A bloom of the rhododendron. There is a giant round bush on the corner of my yard.<br />Soon, it will be entirely pink and open.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IloZPs6LwrI/Ua-pVJn1tiI/AAAAAAAAAss/nzU8nlHFVm8/s1600/shot_1370377731681.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IloZPs6LwrI/Ua-pVJn1tiI/AAAAAAAAAss/nzU8nlHFVm8/s1600/shot_1370377731681.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These are some of the upper blooms that have fully opened on that rhodie.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WGRQOuA4ZEI/Ua-pVaOLGMI/AAAAAAAAAsw/43WfHaWDmqo/s1600/shot_1370377860189.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WGRQOuA4ZEI/Ua-pVaOLGMI/AAAAAAAAAsw/43WfHaWDmqo/s1600/shot_1370377860189.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These tiny red lichens (I'm guessing) grow on a stump that was left in my yard. <br />The equally tinyblades of grass caught the sunlight just so<br /> yesterday. It looks so <a href="http://www.seussville.com/" target="_blank">Seussian</a> to me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_6GsG8xh9_8/Ua-pVlPs3xI/AAAAAAAAAs8/PyYuyl0Nu9k/s1600/shot_1370438925398.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_6GsG8xh9_8/Ua-pVlPs3xI/AAAAAAAAAs8/PyYuyl0Nu9k/s1600/shot_1370438925398.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was my yard this morning before my neighbor so graciously cut it. I honestly<br />wouldn't mind this look, but others probably think it looks like a weed field.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HXelUno8plc/Ua-pQoQgrbI/AAAAAAAAAr0/KDh7OGcWac4/s1600/shot_1367951855624.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HXelUno8plc/Ua-pQoQgrbI/AAAAAAAAAr0/KDh7OGcWac4/s1600/shot_1367951855624.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">White Siberian Iris along the driveway. My gay <a href="http://www.subaru.com/" target="_blank">Subaru</a> in the background. I love that car.<br /><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eJ5WL4atya0/Ua-pWRhpUPI/AAAAAAAAAtE/6OkRs7XyhLw/s1600/shot_1370438936559.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eJ5WL4atya0/Ua-pWRhpUPI/AAAAAAAAAtE/6OkRs7XyhLw/s1600/shot_1370438936559.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The non-descript flowers of the Solomon's Seal hang down from its stem.<br />Iris leaves and an elephant ear also catch the sun.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HBJrodMYWMs/Ua-pWlpQ1II/AAAAAAAAAtM/WkTkBsvanis/s1600/shot_1370457568785.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HBJrodMYWMs/Ua-pWlpQ1II/AAAAAAAAAtM/WkTkBsvanis/s1600/shot_1370457568785.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I had always heard that ants and peonies had a symbiotic relationship. <br /><a href="http://voices.yahoo.com/ants-peonies-whats-relationship-7402352.html" target="_blank">They kinda help each other out</a> though their survival doesn't rely on the other.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qcdQLqPIs7g/Ua-pXP47icI/AAAAAAAAAtQ/20ARfdfT0RE/s1600/shot_1370457581866.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qcdQLqPIs7g/Ua-pXP47icI/AAAAAAAAAtQ/20ARfdfT0RE/s1600/shot_1370457581866.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poppies glow in the sunlight with Siberian Iris in the background. They are<br />more purple than my <a href="http://www.urbian.biz/apps/retrocam/" target="_blank">Retro Camera app</a> captured them.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-P8MWms1iJV8/Ua-pYJBZcyI/AAAAAAAAAtk/jLiinwwIEfQ/s1600/shot_1370457686294.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-P8MWms1iJV8/Ua-pYJBZcyI/AAAAAAAAAtk/jLiinwwIEfQ/s1600/shot_1370457686294.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When I found this little guy, I always thought he looked like a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moomin" target="_blank">Moomin</a>. <br />Moomins are characters from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Comet-Moominland-Tove-Jansson/dp/0312608888/ref=sr_1_16?ie=UTF8&qid=1370468255&sr=8-16&keywords=tove+jansson+moomin" target="_blank">books by Tove Jansson</a> that I loved in my childhood.<br />I still have quite a collection of them.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--f_fQEZLYaM/Ua-pYeDOW5I/AAAAAAAAAts/WwHVXLiCuGI/s1600/shot_1370457815912.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--f_fQEZLYaM/Ua-pYeDOW5I/AAAAAAAAAts/WwHVXLiCuGI/s1600/shot_1370457815912.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My mom gave us her collection of skunks for the garden. This little baby<br />is tucked in by mint, oregano and butterfly weed. Neighbors have passed by and said<br />they just may take them for their yard when we aren't looking.<br /><br /><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i>Do you have a garden? Do you take the time to look at it? What are your favorite flowers or plants? Do you have a favorite tchotchke (or garden decoration) that you like? Please share below!</i><br />
<br />
@Ybbeige<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Unexpectations-ebook/dp/B005H5GGCE" target="_blank">Erica Harding in Unexpectations loved to work in her gardens</a>Barbara Beigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09366173684776600667noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-952025162221058229.post-6533972621535192422013-05-30T17:43:00.000-04:002013-05-30T17:43:13.515-04:00When Leg Hair Takes on a Life of its Own<div class="MsoNormal">
There I was, sitting on a stool at a friend’s, chatting
before our beach walk. First time wearing shorts for the year. Yea, it’s been
darned cold in <st1:state w:st="on">Maine</st1:state>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had brushed my hand against my leg when I felt a tickle.
It felt like a hair. Funny thing was that I couldn’t brush it off. Then I
noticed that there was another one. Couldn’t brush that one off either.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What?! Are those two hairs really attached to the back of my
leg?!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Are you freakin’ kidding me?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How can they be there? And, how could they be that friggin’
long? I <a href="http://www.gillettevenus.com/en-US/products/type/razors-refillable/" target="_blank">shave</a> my legs! I shaved them all winter. And, I shaved them all spring,
which it technically still is. I do have a <a href="http://www.barbarabeige.blogspot.com/2013/05/in-search-of-forever-love.html" target="_blank">girlfriend</a>, you know.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, I’m trying to be nonchalant and figure out how to deal
with those ungodly stragglers while balancing on a bar stool.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-g6F96Wk-bfg/UafFO3ns6QI/AAAAAAAAArk/BWvqcURhlWQ/s1600/leg+hair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-g6F96Wk-bfg/UafFO3ns6QI/AAAAAAAAArk/BWvqcURhlWQ/s1600/leg+hair.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Okay, this might be a slight exaggeration of how big those suckers were, but they felt this big.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nodding pleasantly during the conversation. Not really
paying attention, I’m transfixed. Tattooed on the thought of my new appendages.
How noticeable are they? Are they dark and thick? Would my friend notice them
on our walk? My shorts are on the longer side, but not long enough. Anyone walking in the vicinity would probably see them. I think
that anyone using <a href="http://www.google.com/earth/index.html" target="_blank">Google Earth</a> at that moment would be able to see them on me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Again…how did I miss shaving them? They are like their own
entities. Do I say something because I must look so uncomfortable and
distracted? Do I discuss my sudden desire to braid and bead my leg hair? Maybe
turn them into a dreadlock? No, he’s a guy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Just let it go, B. Let it go,” I said to myself.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then I twisted the hairs around my finger and pulled them
out. Vowing to never, ever let it happen again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Have you ever run into
a similar situation? How did you handle it? Please share below!<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
@Ybbeige</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://facebook.com/barbarabeige">http://facebook.com/barbarabeige</a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Unexpectations-ebook/dp/B005H5GGCE" target="_blank">It’s a good chick beach read…</a></div>
Barbara Beigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09366173684776600667noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-952025162221058229.post-86009970110376467712013-05-07T21:41:00.000-04:002013-05-07T21:41:14.098-04:00In Search of Forever Love<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The idea of a love that lasts forever is one for us hopeful
romantics. A theme for songs. For poems. For novels. And, for <st1:place w:st="on">Hollywood</st1:place>
movies (at least the <a href="http://www.movie-moron.com/?p=24407" target="_blank">chick flick</a> variety).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Can one love in our life last forever? One love who is there
through it all? Through thick and thin? Through ups and downs? As the
<a href="http://www.disney.com/" target="_blank">Disney</a>-theory goes, one would have to say “yes” to those questions. But, from
life as I’ve seen it (and from what I’ve seen with so many others), I would
say, “not exactly.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lfMCRbXLBeU/UYmqbfAA2-I/AAAAAAAAAqk/6-0C6CIYoUw/s1600/1360178399019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lfMCRbXLBeU/UYmqbfAA2-I/AAAAAAAAAqk/6-0C6CIYoUw/s1600/1360178399019.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As a friend once suggested, and as my life experiences have
played out, there may be several loves in one’s lifetime. Several mates and
partners that, each time, we think we are in love with them. The level of love
may be different with each of those too. From first loves to lustful loves to
this seems like I should make it work love. Maybe for each of those time
periods in our life, those different loves worked? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ODKXlTcw3Kk/UYmqcFoXqLI/AAAAAAAAAqM/Gzzi47s0lzw/s1600/1366216527514.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ODKXlTcw3Kk/UYmqcFoXqLI/AAAAAAAAAqM/Gzzi47s0lzw/s1600/1366216527514.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Were we really sure that we were in love in each of those
relationships? While we are in them we may think so. There’s the excitement.
The butterflies. The passion. But is everything else there that should
accompany those feelings? The sharing? The day to day rituals? The leaning on
and being there for one another unconditionally? The dreaming of and working
towards a future together? All of these things, along with the excitement,
butterflies and passion should definitely be there.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hindsight is 20/20. Looking back usually tells a different
story. Initially we think we have those things. But careful or sometimes just
obvious thought reveals that we didn’t have true love. It may have been young.
It may have been forced. Or, it may have just been about sex and lust. Yea,
good sex and lust can certainly feel like love.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bcP5e9ha09c/UYmqcC5olaI/AAAAAAAAAqQ/Fp3nk0f6UYI/s1600/1366135761088.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bcP5e9ha09c/UYmqcC5olaI/AAAAAAAAAqQ/Fp3nk0f6UYI/s1600/1366135761088.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Perhaps these different loves we thought we had are really
just stepping stones for us? Steps that give us the background and knowledge
for what we really want? Or, steps that give us the knowledge of what we don’t
want? Steps that have given us experiences to compare what we’ve had to what we
really need. Steps that show us how we treat others and how we should be
treated. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’d like to think that, now, as I am in my mid-40s that I
have finally found my Forever Love. Funny thing is that I wasn’t even looking
for it when it happened. I have been blown away by how right everything is with
<a href="http://www.barbarabeige.blogspot.com/2012/05/baby-photo-dating-story.html" target="_blank">Five Eleven</a>. How I have fallen in love with her from the inside out. By not
looking, by not forcing a relationship, by starting out with a genuine
friendship, I found someone who has matched up with all that I have ever
wanted. Someone who totally gets me for me. And, who treats me the way I feel I
have always deserved to be treated. And she loves the way that I treat her. It’s
comfortable. We fit. How lucky am I?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OPd1fAk-w6A/UYmqcGDoD4I/AAAAAAAAAqY/WMHw-fUI460/s1600/1367083308810.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OPd1fAk-w6A/UYmqcGDoD4I/AAAAAAAAAqY/WMHw-fUI460/s1600/1367083308810.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, from here on out, I figure I still have forever. Forever
to experience and live life. And, now, I can do all that with my Forever Love. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>How about you? Have
you found your Forever Love? When did you find it? What makes it so special for
you? Did you ever think you had it, but found out otherwise? Please share your thoughts
below. Thanks!<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
@Ybbeige</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://facebook.com/barbarabeige">http://facebook.com/barbarabeige</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Unexpectations-ebook/dp/B005H5GGCE/ref=sr_1_3_bnp_1_kin?ie=UTF8&qid=1367976387&sr=8-3&keywords=barbara+beige" target="_blank">The kinda story we hope has forever love.</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Barbara Beigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09366173684776600667noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-952025162221058229.post-72940190125574329162013-04-09T12:50:00.000-04:002013-04-09T12:50:49.663-04:00Remember That One Time When You Were a Felon?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Life is never dull. That’s for sure. Either you find
excitement or it comes to you. Well, it came to me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’d like to think that I’m
a fairly good judge of character and that I tend to gravitate towards people who
are generally good…at least in the law-abiding sense. So imagine my response
when I found out that I was <a href="http://barbarabeige.blogspot.com/2012/05/baby-photo-dating-story.html" target="_blank">dating a felon</a>. Astonishment. Disbelief. What the
heck? And, are you freakin’ kidding me?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here I thought Five Eleven was a wonderful, sensitive woman.
Caring, thoughtful, smart, funny, handy as all get out. A boi. Her own self.
Great with kids. An incredible lover. Never did I think she was a
watch-out-you-just-dropped-the-soap kind of lover.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qEut7joGV4A/UWREoopmU-I/AAAAAAAAApU/suz_IBESL_c/s1600/felon+parakeets.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qEut7joGV4A/UWREoopmU-I/AAAAAAAAApU/suz_IBESL_c/s1600/felon+parakeets.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm sorry that my life is so dull that I do not have actual pictures of friends in jail.<br />I had to resort to birds in cages. I do have a friend who works in a prison. Does that count?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How could a woman who has served in Desert Storm, <st1:country-region w:st="on">Afghanistan</st1:country-region> and <st1:country-region w:st="on">Iraq</st1:country-region> end up as a felon? A woman who
worked as a drill sergeant to help turn around severely troubled youth in our
country? A woman who has been nothing but supportive for me through this <a href="http://barbarabeige.blogspot.com/2012/05/missing-me.html" target="_blank">whole head injury</a>? The idea just blew my mind. And, hers actually.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It turns out that Five Eleven is not a felon. (You can
breathe a sigh of relief Mom and Dad). But, she was called one for about two
weeks. Five Eleven was trying to get a new job. She passed the interviews, drug
screenings and physical tests (that other women just haven’t been able to) with
flying colors. Then it came to having a background check. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-197L76icKM0/UWREoqVXsDI/AAAAAAAAApc/klQhD6oVDr8/s1600/felon+finches.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-197L76icKM0/UWREoqVXsDI/AAAAAAAAApc/klQhD6oVDr8/s1600/felon+finches.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thank goodness the pet store had two kinds of birds in cages to <br />add visual interest to this post.<br />Actually, I know I have pics somewhere from when I <br />used to have a Blue & Gold Macaw...hmm...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s amazing how companies who do background checks don’t
always look you up with your social security number. Scary actually. Why do we
even have that number then? Where Five Eleven used to live, there were a dozen
people in that same county with her first, middle and last name. So, is it any
wonder that someone else with that same name would have a criminal record? And have
spent three years in prison? If the background company actually verified her
work history, they would have seen that she was busily employed then and not
spending time in some jail for embezzlement. Or, a quick call to the State
Police like she did would have clarified things immediately.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, being a felon put Five Eleven’s hiring date back some
which has been a bit of a nuisance, but the good news is she has a new job and
she is no longer a felon. Phew! We will be talking about this for a good long
time, I’m sure. Like, forever. Even telling our grandkids about it. I can tell
them about my time at Band Camp (which we really just called Band in the
summer). And, she can tell them about …that one time…when she was at felon
camp. You go, good-bad Grandma!*</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>*Five Eleven does not
want to be called Grandma in real life. We have many years (I hope) to
contemplate what we’d like to be called by our future Grandbabies.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
@Ybbeige</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
http://facebook.com/barbarabeige</div>
Barbara Beigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09366173684776600667noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-952025162221058229.post-71372277890006675352013-04-04T18:55:00.002-04:002013-04-04T18:55:44.079-04:00My Boyfriend Died<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yep. He did. He was a cute little thing too. Thank you for
your condolences. Now, before you get all crazy with a, “But I thought she was
a lesbian and now she has a boyfriend,” attitude, let me clarify. My Boyfriend
was a fish. A cute little <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Corydoras" target="_blank">corydoras catfish</a>. RIP little fish.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-q-1hlIXeHbo/UV4Dt9EPeiI/AAAAAAAAAo4/AWwfaVROdtU/s1600/shot_1363632436880.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-q-1hlIXeHbo/UV4Dt9EPeiI/AAAAAAAAAo4/AWwfaVROdtU/s1600/shot_1363632436880.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No, My Boyfriend is not in this picture. Never did get a picture of him.<br />Fish do not pose.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And that was his name. My Boyfriend. My Oldest and I laughed
like crazy when we came up with that name. And then we laughed every time we
talked about him. It sounded better when she said it, because, well, I have a
girlfriend. Even <a href="http://barbarabeige.blogspot.com/2012/10/butch-leaning.html" target="_blank">Five Eleven</a> was thrown off a bit when I first mentioned My
Boyfriend to her. I don’t think that’s something your girlfriend wants to hear.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AGJxpFBBiMw/UV4Dt7ArdII/AAAAAAAAApA/xRTCZ3pdF20/s1600/shot_1363630442524.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AGJxpFBBiMw/UV4Dt7ArdII/AAAAAAAAApA/xRTCZ3pdF20/s1600/shot_1363630442524.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So, when I had my drink first by the tank, the fish swam over to check out the straw.<br />As soon as I pulled out my camera to get a picture of them "drinking," they stayed away.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You probably also want the details on what happened. I’m
thinking the pH got off and he couldn’t handle it like the other fish. My
Boyfriend was delicate. Obviously too delicate.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, when we get the pH back in line, I’d like to get another
cory or two. We’ll have to name one My New Boyfriend for my Oldest. And the
other one, we’ll name, My Boifriend With An I, just because we wouldn’t want it
to sound weird or anything when I said it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
@ybbeige</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
www.barbarabeige.com</div>
Barbara Beigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09366173684776600667noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-952025162221058229.post-58386115737814157472013-03-18T13:55:00.000-04:002013-03-18T13:55:41.991-04:00Making a Fashion Statement with Medical Tape<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Mom, your glasses don’t match your leather jacket,” says
Little One.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Thank you, honey. They really don’t match anything.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Remember how I wrote about how everyone thought I looked
fine? (<a href="http://www.barbarabeige.blogspot.com/2012/11/but-you-look-fine.html" target="_blank">Read about that here</a>). Well, now, thanks to a Neuro-Opthamologist, I
look like a certified goober. With my new glasses, it looks like there is
actually something wrong with me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let me explain. I’m now wearing plain glasses with strips of
medical tape running vertically by the nose piece. Stylish, huh? The tape is
supposed to get a few parts of my brain that have to do with vision, to
actually talk with each other. I guess my midline vision and my peripheral
vision aren’t working together.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LJo-fduUPrM/UUdTfm4qY4I/AAAAAAAAAoU/py3FK_UT74U/s1600/medical+tape+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LJo-fduUPrM/UUdTfm4qY4I/AAAAAAAAAoU/py3FK_UT74U/s1600/medical+tape+2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snazzy, huh? How do you supposed they'd pair with a little black dress?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Picture if everything you looked at was constantly jumping
around. So minutely that you don’t notice it (well, sometimes you do), but your
brain notices it by scrambling your head and balance. The doctor told me that
since I was in such <a href="http://www.barbarabeige.blogspot.com/2012/04/sex-and-yogurt-abs.html" target="_blank">good physical shape</a> when I had the head injury, that I’ve
been able to compensate quite well. Well, better than others perhaps, but not
perfectly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can’t really see the tape while I’m wearing the glasses,
but others can’t miss it. I can tell that people just stare. Some may say
nothing while I’ve gotten other complete strangers asking about it. I even got
a blunt, “What’s wrong with you?” The cashier followed up with a quick apology.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N9CKTf1sJoA/UUdTfiKofFI/AAAAAAAAAoY/MPETBUsuKvA/s1600/medical+tape+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N9CKTf1sJoA/UUdTfiKofFI/AAAAAAAAAoY/MPETBUsuKvA/s1600/medical+tape+1.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can still see with them on, thank goodness.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now, this can actually be a positive. Like, when I’m in the
checkout line and I can’t remember the pin number for my debit card to save my
life. Instead of staring blankly at the pin pad or guessing on several number
combinations that sound vaguely familiar, I can point at my glasses and say,
“Head injury. Can you run that as credit instead?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have some good friends who have tried to be positive about
their comments to make me feel good. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You can hardly even see the tape,” they say. But they saw
it to tell me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Or, “You look good in glasses.” While hinting that there are
nicer frames available.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Or, “It looks like a new type of bifocal.” Uh huh. Not.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had a really good friend say to me when she saw them for
the first time, “What’s with the goggles?!” Because there is no hiding an
elephant in the room. Thank goodness for true friends.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No matter what anyone thinks, I’m going to continue wearing
them. And crossing my fingers that they work. It sure would be nice to have my
balance back so I feel more sure-footed and perhaps can ride a bicycle again
(<a href="http://www.barbarabeige.blogspot.com/2012/11/born-to-surf-just-havent-done-it-yet.html" target="_blank">or learn to surf</a>). And, they are supposed to help with the constant headaches and
nausea that accompany the swirling in my head.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Plus, if this works to the point where I don’t have to wear
them anymore, I wouldn’t have to worry about trying to coordinate my outfits
with medical tape, since obviously, nothing really matches it anyway.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
@Ybbeige</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
www.barbarabeige.com</div>
Barbara Beigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09366173684776600667noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-952025162221058229.post-71588060950128333232013-03-04T21:34:00.001-05:002013-03-04T21:34:13.770-05:00Trippin’ Like Alice<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I find that I like making analogies and comparing bits of my
life to other things. A while back, I compared relationships to a <a href="http://barbarabeige.blogspot.com/2011/05/ten-speed-relationships.html" target="_blank">ten-speedbike</a>. As of late, I’ve been feeling like my life is like a fairy tale. I’ve got
love in my life like a happy Disney movie. Yay. But, then, I’ve got <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R_raXzIRgsA" target="_blank">JeffersonAirplane</a> <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/White_Rabbit_(song)" target="_blank">White Rabbit</a>, swirly, non-sensical, 1865 Lewis Carroll, voodoo stuff going
on too.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My inability to stay focused on any task at hand and the
constant nausea and spinning in my brain has me feeling like I’m tripping like <st1:city w:st="on">Alice</st1:city> in Wonderland. Not
to mention the going from drug to drug to “help” with my post-concussive
syndrome. I wish I could take a drug and just grow out of this or shrink out of
it…either way…like <st1:city w:st="on">Alice</st1:city>
did. And, then, I’d be done with it all. But, no. I’m just so sensitive to
meds. Most have made me feel more cloudy or foggy than I already am. And, I’m
not really sure if they could cure it, but just lessen some side effects.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CTH3K_WY4RY/UTVVaQYK4oI/AAAAAAAAAnw/M7JV41fkPYo/s1600/trippin+tea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CTH3K_WY4RY/UTVVaQYK4oI/AAAAAAAAAnw/M7JV41fkPYo/s1600/trippin+tea.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Teas sometimes help with headaches. I swear this one made with mushrooms<br />makes me have funky dreams. Look for them at your local Asian market.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Obviously, the whole story of <st1:city w:st="on">Alice</st1:city> in Wonderland was like one big drug
trip (though I’ve heard the author says otherwise). I’d like to say that I have
personal college experience to compare it to, that I inhaled, but no, I’m your
typical goody-two-shoes. A square. My closest comparison would be doctor-prescribed
medicines. What I’ve experienced sounds like what friends have described at
parties (at college or the like). I personally don’t like what I’ve
experienced. My reaction is one of the reasons I fought so hard to have surgery
without being put under.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think, too, that I’m the type of person who experiences
all those scary, horrible side effects that you hear on the commercials on TV.
Who wants to have difficulty breathing, rashes, dizziness, seizures, bleeding,
coma, heart attacks, stroke, urinary tract infections, thoughts of suicide,
your bits falling off, death? Okay, I’m not sure about your bits falling off,
but I’ve heard all the other ones mentioned and have experienced way too many
side effects to be comfortable with. So, why would anyone in their right mind
want to take something with those possible side effects? Death? Really? Good
times. Neat.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I haven’t found that any of the drugs I took had benefits
that outweighed the side effects I felt. Why would I choose to be groggy 18
hours after taking something to help me sleep? And, it didn’t even help me
sleep, just kept me awake and groggy through the night. Thank goodness I have a
sister who is a pharmacist. She’s been able to tell me that I’m having a
reaction and how to stop (you can’t always go cold turkey). Are those allergic
reactions what people <i>like</i> to
experience? Is that the “high” that people talk about?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TwTTBHWI14o/UTVVaSvNHAI/AAAAAAAAAoA/uNGupTQ6jvc/s1600/trippin+bc+powder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TwTTBHWI14o/UTVVaSvNHAI/AAAAAAAAAoA/uNGupTQ6jvc/s1600/trippin+bc+powder.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh, like carrying around little wax paper things of white powder doesn't look sketchy?<br />Five Eleven told me about this. I seriously thought she was doing something illegal.<br />It's a southern thing.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I used to be the person who would throw out their Advil and
Tylenol because it would be outdated before I even came close to using a small
bottle up. (Yes, my pharmacist sister is all about dates on meds). Now, I’ve
used up those bottles trying to find relief for my headaches, but they have
never actually taken the entire headache away.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do you take meds for something? Do you find that they
actually help you? Do you experience side effects? Do you like those side
effects? Can you live with what you have without take any meds?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve found myself having to live with new levels of
headaches. What used to be a 4 or 5 (on the pain scale out of 10) when this
whole thing happened, occasionally goes up to a 6 or 7 or even 8. Then, I have
to wait until my body gets used to that new level and feels like a 4 or 5 again
to me. Not fun, but what else do I do?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-swnxGET5YmA/UTVVaWtbZhI/AAAAAAAAAn8/UQTAvoN2--M/s1600/trippin+benadryl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-swnxGET5YmA/UTVVaWtbZhI/AAAAAAAAAn8/UQTAvoN2--M/s1600/trippin+benadryl.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Generic Advil and Benadryl. Benadryl helps with nausea. <br />Just makes you sleepy unless you're one of the people it makes jittery.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not all anti-drug, just so you know. I don’t mind some
drugs. Allergy meds in the spring and Benadryl are my friends. When my doctor
highly recommends something that may help me, I’ll now take her advice and try
it. Even if I start with half of the most possible baby dose they make. And,
one of these days, we might actually find something that works where I’m not trippin’
like Alice.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
@Ybbeige</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://facebook.com/barbarabeige" target="_blank">http://facebook.com/barbarabeige</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Unexpectations-ebook/dp/B005H5GGCE/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1362450076&sr=8-2&keywords=unexpectations+barbara+beige" target="_blank">There is mention of meds during childbirth in my book here</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Barbara Beigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09366173684776600667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-952025162221058229.post-73612948689634582232013-02-27T16:39:00.001-05:002013-03-02T16:42:58.175-05:00The Snow and My Brain<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>All these pictures
were taken on one recent winter’s day.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m driving through this period in my life…my time with what
I have to call “living with a brain injury.” Hi, my name is Barbara. And, I
have a brain injury. Who woulda knew?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fbKYYsLlAeQ/US55wgKKL3I/AAAAAAAAAmQ/Dv3NDfK8osc/s1600/shot_1361802765911.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fbKYYsLlAeQ/US55wgKKL3I/AAAAAAAAAmQ/Dv3NDfK8osc/s1600/shot_1361802765911.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Almost ten months now. No other way to describe it. I’m
trying to accept it. I even go to a brain injury support group. Wouldn't have guessed I'd ever be doing that either.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8cbQ1_7l4Io/US55zPff64I/AAAAAAAAAmk/-bnhXjYa55s/s1600/shot_1361802772964.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8cbQ1_7l4Io/US55zPff64I/AAAAAAAAAmk/-bnhXjYa55s/s1600/shot_1361802772964.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My life is very different. Trying to figure out where I'm going. At times, it feels heavy. There’s
an amount of grief involved.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2rOyDW6HBOQ/US55zGznMwI/AAAAAAAAAmg/v29vfc6T1o0/s1600/shot_1361803618677.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2rOyDW6HBOQ/US55zGznMwI/AAAAAAAAAmg/v29vfc6T1o0/s1600/shot_1361803618677.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
It pulls…it weighs…<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XOdAPqCwC4w/US55wLN2x6I/AAAAAAAAAmE/ebTwid1rPOc/s1600/shot_1361802628474.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XOdAPqCwC4w/US55wLN2x6I/AAAAAAAAAmE/ebTwid1rPOc/s1600/shot_1361802628474.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know this is not who I was…it’s not who I want to be. Will
I find a happy medium?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qTQaiUz5rDE/US55wGn872I/AAAAAAAAAmA/XHbMIy0mWro/s1600/shot_1361802349335.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qTQaiUz5rDE/US55wGn872I/AAAAAAAAAmA/XHbMIy0mWro/s1600/shot_1361802349335.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I try to use humor every day. Have to learn to make fun of
myself even more than I do.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TZn8sp5m0u0/US55z2CKkTI/AAAAAAAAAmw/CsQ5SV9pUqo/s1600/shot_1361805305532.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TZn8sp5m0u0/US55z2CKkTI/AAAAAAAAAmw/CsQ5SV9pUqo/s1600/shot_1361805305532.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I still try to see the beauty in and around my life.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QC6B379K85o/US551UZzJnI/AAAAAAAAAm4/5AxSRUAB2b0/s1600/shot_1361814487645.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QC6B379K85o/US551UZzJnI/AAAAAAAAAm4/5AxSRUAB2b0/s1600/shot_1361814487645.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The lightness of my world.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uyjXHlT1VFc/US55su7l6VI/AAAAAAAAAlo/tb9wZWgyIUI/s1600/shot_1361798940660.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uyjXHlT1VFc/US55su7l6VI/AAAAAAAAAlo/tb9wZWgyIUI/s1600/shot_1361798940660.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And not dwell on the constant pain in my head or get wrapped
up in the changes that have made me not feel like me. But, it’s hard.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PVX8vLvoxtE/US5520rdCPI/AAAAAAAAAnI/qQD1QN57cA8/s1600/shot_1361815519560.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PVX8vLvoxtE/US5520rdCPI/AAAAAAAAAnI/qQD1QN57cA8/s1600/shot_1361815519560.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have to believe that time will heal my head. (Yes, B.,
more time. Be patient.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CuaLdOxCUXQ/US552IGJ3mI/AAAAAAAAAnA/qRH2LaKBh7A/s1600/shot_1361814727723.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CuaLdOxCUXQ/US552IGJ3mI/AAAAAAAAAnA/qRH2LaKBh7A/s1600/shot_1361814727723.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And maybe someday, I can use what I’ve learned to help
others? To give them hope that the cold and dark winter they think they always
feel…will eventually warm and that their thoughts and bodies will once
again…just flow.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0XpdES8ENuU/US55yyW7IrI/AAAAAAAAAmY/a9P737es3xI/s1600/shot_1361803613182.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0XpdES8ENuU/US55yyW7IrI/AAAAAAAAAmY/a9P737es3xI/s1600/shot_1361803613182.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s what I’m wishing for.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Lu7aIyHDB3c/US553ZkWJCI/AAAAAAAAAnQ/qmLT1ONIBHI/s1600/shot_1361816438977.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Lu7aIyHDB3c/US553ZkWJCI/AAAAAAAAAnQ/qmLT1ONIBHI/s1600/shot_1361816438977.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
@Ybbeige</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.barbarabeige.com/">www.barbarabeige.com</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A story written by the old me…of loss, love, hope and new
love…<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Unexpectations-ebook/dp/B005H5GGCE/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1362000796&sr=8-1&keywords=unexpectations+on+kindle" target="_blank">Unexpectations</a>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Barbara Beigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09366173684776600667noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-952025162221058229.post-28952174798177105522013-02-19T23:05:00.002-05:002013-02-21T21:32:01.603-05:00Everyone Is Damaged<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
A conversation with a friend today prompted me to come up with this. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The rose is from Five Eleven from Valentine's Day.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X2d_r1GKpAA/USRKZuGgBWI/AAAAAAAAAks/Nm0PJQ07tRo/s1600/everyone+is+damaged+with+pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="277" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X2d_r1GKpAA/USRKZuGgBWI/AAAAAAAAAks/Nm0PJQ07tRo/s1600/everyone+is+damaged+with+pic.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
@Ybbeige<br />
http://facebook.com/barbarabeige<br />
www.barbarabeige.com<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Unexpectations-ebook/dp/B005H5GGCE/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1361500259&sr=1-1&keywords=unexpectations" target="_blank">Unexpectations on Kindle</a><br />
<br />Barbara Beigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09366173684776600667noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-952025162221058229.post-68606736364978684832013-02-16T21:33:00.000-05:002013-02-16T21:33:49.559-05:00Don’t Get Rid of All Your Fat Pants<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m going to give you some advice that goes against all
other advice you’ve probably heard before. Advice that health-minded people
will totally poo-poo (because I totally would have been one of those poo-pooing
people before). If you’ve lost weight enough to change pant sizes, don’t get
rid of all your fat pants! Save one. Save one pair. One comfy pair. Or, two.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OcvY2q5P510/USA9VD0jZ9I/AAAAAAAAAjc/IbyBNkUrQ38/s1600/pants+lucky.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OcvY2q5P510/USA9VD0jZ9I/AAAAAAAAAjc/IbyBNkUrQ38/s320/pants+lucky.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A <a href="http://www.luckybrand.com/" target="_blank">newer acquisition</a> of desperate proportions. And, I found them for under 25 bucks!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now, this advice is really only a backup plan. A contingency
plan of sorts. If you’re healthy, it isn’t a reason for you to wimp out and
gain that weight back because it’s the holidays or Valentine’s Day or Easter,
or summer barbeque season or whatever food-eating holiday excuse comes up. If
you’ve worked hard and conquered your weight-loss goals and got yourself
fit…never give up on that.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s where I felt I was just last spring. Healthy and fit.
Quite a few years ago now, I had lost extra weight that had slowly crept on. I
had finally felt like I was getting in the best shape I had been in since my
early 20s. I had kept that weight off because I made a lifestyle change. I was
eating healthy and I was exercising regularly. I was getting that six pack on
my abs and feeling so great about myself and then…I had my head injury.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-egDSuk4pfnk/USA_sOegizI/AAAAAAAAAj0/Fre5H8HqCXM/s1600/beer+drinking+couch+pants.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="223" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-egDSuk4pfnk/USA_sOegizI/AAAAAAAAAj0/Fre5H8HqCXM/s320/beer+drinking+couch+pants.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love this <a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/277323289525870071/" target="_blank">meme</a>. Not sure I'm ready for stretchy pants, though.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Every day for the last 9 months, I’ve had to deal with the
effects of this concussion. Even small amounts of physical activity cause my
head to pound, cause an increase in intensity of my now-constant headaches, and
cause nausea or dizziness. I’m having a hard time not looking back at what I
used to be able to do. I’m not supposed to compare my hiking ten hours in the
<a href="http://www.visitwhitemountains.com/" target="_blank">White Mountains of New Hampshire</a> or going out for a fun 15 or 20 mile bike ride
to what I can do now. On a good day, on a really good day, I can walk about a
mile. On flat ground. With lots of breaks. Forget about activity that requires
balance or positional changes like biking or yoga.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, without physical activity, what happens to your body?
Um, as we all know from shows like <a href="http://www.nbc.com/the-biggest-loser/" target="_blank">The Biggest Loser</a>, we gain weight. I’m lucky
that I haven’t turned to emotional eating on top of all this. I still try to
eat as healthy as I can. Part of that is from the lifestyle change I made. I
still do yogurt and flax meal most mornings for breakfast. I watch my carbs. I
watch my fats. But, without that cardio exercise I had before my injury, I’m
finding it difficult to keep the weight off.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CNmIZXhSjxo/USA9VK7t5hI/AAAAAAAAAjg/hzTSUuZ3OrI/s1600/pants+painting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CNmIZXhSjxo/USA9VK7t5hI/AAAAAAAAAjg/hzTSUuZ3OrI/s320/pants+painting.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Darned comfy <a href="http://www.gap.com/" target="_blank">GAP jeans</a>. Unfortunately, they are covered in paint.<br />
Most of my jeans have worn out in the right knee. I'm okay with that.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m looking at a new twenty extra pounds. Most people look
at me and say I look great (<a href="http://www.barbarabeige.blogspot.com/2012/11/but-you-look-fine.html" target="_blank">I look fine</a>, remember?) But, for me, I don’t feel
as great. <a href="http://www.barbarabeige.blogspot.com/2012_04_01_archive.html" target="_blank">My abs are losing their definition</a>. My thighs are bigger. My butt is
bigger. My boobs are bigger. Okay, so the bigger boobs are fine. My pants are
snuggly. Some are way snuggly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had made a promise to myself to never gain that weight
back that I lost. I promised myself to always be as active as I could. I
thought I was invincible in that thinking. I thought I’d maintain that level of
fitness that I had achieved and then some. And, if I lost that level, it would
be slowly as I got (much) older. Little did I know that something would happen
where I had no control and that it would change in an instant. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve made a new plan with my doctor to try to help. It
involves setting very small goals of physicality and putting smiley stickers on
my calendar when I meet those goals. I’ll have a happy visual that works well
in my fluffy bunnies and happy rainbows sort of world.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--4WwfL5UGUY/USA9VNXANVI/AAAAAAAAAjk/Mz8K71ggNow/s1600/smiley+stickers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--4WwfL5UGUY/USA9VNXANVI/AAAAAAAAAjk/Mz8K71ggNow/s320/smiley+stickers.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These are clipped to my calendar. As I meet an exercise goal, <br />
one of these happy little faces gets a new home!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, here I find myself digging through my closet trying to
find pants that give me just a little more room. Especially on those bloaty
days when women just need that extra room. But, I don’t have any. Well, except
for one pair of “painting pants” that I don’t want to wear out of the ‘hood.
So, don’t be like me and give away all your fat pants. And, <a href="http://www.jillianmichaels.com/fit/" target="_blank">Jillian Michaels</a>,
please don’t kill me for saying that. I just might need to borrow them.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
@Ybbeige</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://facebook.com/barbarabeige">http://facebook.com/barbarabeige</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.barbarabeige.com/">www.barbarabeige.com</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Unexpectations-ebook/dp/B005H5GGCE/ref=sr_1_sc_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1361067033&sr=8-2-spell&keywords=unexpecations" target="_blank">My Chick Read</a></div>
Barbara Beigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09366173684776600667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-952025162221058229.post-9128717406036132582013-02-08T13:09:00.002-05:002013-02-14T19:24:47.297-05:00Nothing Says Love Like a Chocolate Boob<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do you ever come across an idea and think, “Oh, my gosh,
this is SO awesome!” and “Why didn’t I think of that?” Yea, but, then it
doesn’t turn out so awesome (and, you’re kinda glad it wasn’t your idea?). I
had one of those things happen today. I don’t know where I got the idea, so
sorry that I can’t give proper credit. It was either in a long-distance
relationship ideas article or maybe a romantic ideas article. Anyway, it struck
me as super cool so I jotted it down. It said, “Mold a chocolate body part.”
I’m thinking, chocolate and boob. Wow! Doesn’t get much better than that! You
would think.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, Valentine’s Day is right around the corner. Five Eleven
still lives 2400 miles away and we can’t be together. A blizzard is bearing
down on us here in <st1:place w:st="on">New England</st1:place>. If I’m going
to get this out in time for her to get it by the 14<sup>th</sup>, it needs to
be in the mail today.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After barely sleeping because of a headache, I grab a cup of
coffee and take a quick shower. After all, if I’m going to put chocolate on my
boob for her consumption, it should be a clean boob.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe I should Google how to do this? No. Can’t be that
hard. I went to <a href="http://www.rit.edu/" target="_blank">art school</a>. Melt some chocolate. Don’t make it so hot that I
burn my nipple off. Slather it on fairly thick. Let it harden. Pop it off. Wrap
it up. Voila! Valentine’s Day gift is ready to mail.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If only chocolate boobs were that easy. I’m afraid to say
that is not how my chocolate boob adventure went. It started off like
that…somewhat.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, here I am wearing jeans and a zip up sweatshirt, fresh
out of the shower. It’s too cold to be totally topless. I melt some nice 60%
<a href="http://www.ghiradelli.com/" target="_blank">Ghiradelli</a> chips down; add a touch of <a href="http://www.grandmarnier.com/dispatch.php" target="_blank">Grand Marnier</a>…ready to go. I get a towel
and some paper towels because I know me. Grace is not my middle name. Made a
note to grab a hand mirror but forgot to. Lay down on the couch, bare my right
breast and spoon on some warm chocolate. Hope I have the edges looking good.
Can’t see because I forgot the mirror. Nice.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xYHzCaH5OVg/URU-mLRiiYI/AAAAAAAAAjA/GAqjbhKIqBM/s1600/chocolate+boob+ingredients.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xYHzCaH5OVg/URU-mLRiiYI/AAAAAAAAAjA/GAqjbhKIqBM/s1600/chocolate+boob+ingredients.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The fateful ingredients.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Flip on one of those morning shows that I never watch
figuring it’ll only take a few minutes. Touch the edge. Still liquidy. Lick my
finger. Hmm… Try to sip my coffee. I am not in a comfortable position. Hope
this doesn’t take too long.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Test it again. Not even close. Lick my fingers. I shift to
get more comfortable. The inside of the sweatshirt now has chocolate on it. The
sun starts shining in through the window directly on my breast. Well, that balmy
stream won’t help it. The furnace is running non-stop, too, since I turned it
on. Should have left it at the 53 degrees like it was in here when I woke up.
So, I carefully get up, turn the furnace down and reposition out of the sun. Of
course, I get more chocolate on my fingers. Lick it off.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A half hour of morning show dribble goes by. Touch the
chocolate. Dang! Not even close to solidifying. Lick my finger. It must be too
warm in here along with my warm body temperature. So, I go to my side door,
crouch down and open it up. I’m hoping the air that can now seep in around the ill-fitting
storm door is cool enough to harden my chocolate boob. As I’m crouched on the
floor, I can see movement at my neighbor’s. Oh my god, I think they can totally
see me! They see everything I do anyway. No, wait, the window is fogging up.
I’m good. Why is there so much glass on this storm door? I lean back against
the inside door hoping to blend in, just in case.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The cool air comes in. Nothing is happening. So, I lift the
storm window to let more cool air in. Did I mention that it’s 18 degrees out?
Yes. One. Eight. So, now, my other nipple is totally erect and the chocolate is
not getting any harder. Somehow, I manage to bump it with half my hand. I lick
it off.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Okay, now I’m desperate. I need to get really cold. I grab
the key to the shed. Cover the non-chocolate boob, hold my sweatshirt out like
a wing to shield the chocolate boob so I don’t freak out my neighbors and I
make a dash for the shed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I close the door behind me. I can see my breath. It’s
freaking cold in here. I start shivering. I can see goose bumps all over my
stomach and chest. Both my nipples can now cut glass. The right one will drill
itself out of its chocolate sheath if this takes too long. I test the
chocolate. What the heck?! Lick my finger. I’ll bend over. Maybe if my boob is
hanging away from my body, it’ll finally harden. So there I am. Bent over two
<a href="http://www.ziploc.com/Pages/Default.aspx" target="_blank">Ziploc </a>baggies full of smelly shells from beach walks and a five gallon tank of
gas. Wow. This is a romantic gift in the making.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hey, my boob looks like it’ll be a good shape though. Perky
and round. I’m starting to feel hypothermic. I test the chocolate. Barely firm
but I swear I feel it pulling away from my skin. It must be time. Maybe, just
maybe it’ll work? I try to pop off my chocolate boob.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--PWSpY-jh9k/URU-mE8AYXI/AAAAAAAAAi8/VFshxWHvDao/s1600/chocolate+boob+in+a+bowl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--PWSpY-jh9k/URU-mE8AYXI/AAAAAAAAAi8/VFshxWHvDao/s1600/chocolate+boob+in+a+bowl.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The chocolate in the bowl hardened up just fine.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Instead of a nice chocolate cup that I was envisioning (ooh,
to fill with ice cream?), I get a handful of thick, mushy chocolate. I jam it
into my mouth. Scrape off another handful. This is breakfast. Way past
breakfast time. I wipe my hands off on some of those <a href="http://www.homedepot.com/buy/scott-55-ct-shop-towels-on-a-roll-75130.html#.URVA9R3LT0Q" target="_blank">manly blue paper towels</a> I
keep in the shed, pull my sweatshirt closed and run back into the house.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Strip off the sweatshirt and jeans and jump in the shower.
Again. Sadly, the rest of the chocolate boob goes down the drain. I still had
to go to the post office to mail other things. Just not a chocolate boob. So,
sorry, Five Eleven. You’ll be getting a nice Valentine’s Day card from me
anyway. But, wait. Did I mention that I took pictures of this whole adventure?
Just for you. Nothing says love like pictures of a chocolate boob.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
@Ybbeige</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://facebook.com/barbarabeige">http://facebook.com/barbarabeige</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.barbarabeige.com/">www.barbarabeige.com</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Unexpectations-ebook/dp/B005H5GGCE" target="_blank">Unexpectations on Kindle</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Barbara Beigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09366173684776600667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-952025162221058229.post-50390343052171022152013-02-06T19:37:00.002-05:002013-02-14T19:38:36.995-05:00Don’t Bite My Junk aka Things in Your Toilet<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do you ever get a creepy thought in your head that just
won’t go away? Five Eleven told me that she was always afraid of a hand coming
up out of the toilet. I had never thought of that. I had heard of snakes doing
that and really only worried in the summertime (when snakes would be out). But,
now, I have to worry about hands coming up to grab me while I’m peeing? What
the?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NEXRcbU44lA/URL0YKGOpoI/AAAAAAAAAik/nXfD3qIldmQ/s1600/snake+on+the+toilet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NEXRcbU44lA/URL0YKGOpoI/AAAAAAAAAik/nXfD3qIldmQ/s1600/snake+on+the+toilet.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If only the critters we needed to worry about were of the plush kind.<br />
How about that scary <a href="http://www.pamperskandoo.com/" target="_blank">Kandoo</a> lizard on the tank? Can't get much cuter than that.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If I think of the design of toilets, this is nearly
impossible, but when one is fearful, one doesn’t think rationally. Now, Five
Eleven grew up with an outhouse most of her childhood. By a “crick” (we
pronounced creek that way too) and a holler (I only knew that term from a
<a href="http://www.lorettalynn.com/50/" target="_blank">Loretta Lynn</a> song). Imagine a rickety old outhouse with a few holes in a bench
kind-of-thing in the middle of nowhere (well, by the edge of some creepy woods).
Yea, I could see a hand coming up from that. No thank you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is also why I don’t watch scary movies. I have enough
of an imagination. Five Eleven loves scary movies. I told her that I’d watch
them with her only if she’ll protect me (like a good Butch should) and not
freak out if I scream or jump while watching them. And, only if she doesn’t
have to be away for work immediately following the watching of any scary movies.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I <a href="http://www.google.com/" target="_blank">Googled</a> things in toilets and found quite a list. Many of
these sightings have happened in other parts of the world, but depending on
cracks in your pipes, they could happen anywhere.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Snakes. Yep. Snakes are definitely on the list. All kinds of
snakes. Ten foot boa constrictors. Water moccasins. Pythons. I knew that.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rats. These are just furry critters with a snake on their
butt.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Baby possums. See the description for rats above. Same
thing. They’ll also come down your vent pipes and end up in your toilets if
they don’t swim there.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Carnivorous lizards. Yea. Because we don’t have enough
meat-eating reptiles in our lives trying to nibble on our junk.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Frogs. Like the skies sometimes rain frogs, they can be
found anywhere, including in our toilets. Frogs like water. Our toilets contain
water. That’s all you need.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One other critter to watch out for…just because that list
isn’t long enough…are spiders. They like to hide under toilet seats. Isn’t that
a lovely thought? And, not always just regular spiders, but deadly spiders of
course. Black widow spiders and brown recluse fit that bill in the <st1:country-region w:st="on">US</st1:country-region>. Swell.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, now, with the thought of creepy critters in my toilets
and documented cases of creepy critters in other peoples’ toilets, I won’t worry so
much about the hands coming up to grab my bits. I just now turn on the light at
night and do a little check. And, that could be a good thing. My junk will
thank me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>What are you afraid of
coming out of your toilet? Or, had you not even thought of it until I mentioned
it? (Sorry if that was the case.) Have you ever had a creepy critter in your
toilet or bathroom? Please share!<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
@Ybbeige</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://facebook.com/barbarabeige">http://facebook.com/barbarabeige</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.barbarabeige.com/">www.barbarabeige.com</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Unexpectations-ebook/dp/B005H5GGCE" target="_blank">My Chick Read...bring the tissues</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Barbara Beigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09366173684776600667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-952025162221058229.post-2598152085974719672013-01-26T15:31:00.000-05:002013-01-26T15:31:56.786-05:00You’ll Eat It and You’ll Like It!<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Little One has a few bites of food left on her plate.
Literally just teaspoons. I see the look in her eyes. She’s full.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Baby Girl, don’t eat it,” I say.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But, I feel bad.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What? For the starving people in <st1:place w:st="on">Africa</st1:place>?
I gave you too much. Never force yourself to clean your plate. I’ve always told
you that.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Right there, I did it. I was like my parents in one of those
parent quotes talking about the kids in <st1:place w:st="on">Africa</st1:place>.
Remember your parents saying stuff to you about how there were starving kids in
<st1:place w:st="on">Africa</st1:place>? Or <st1:country-region w:st="on">Ethiopia</st1:country-region>? And how you needed to
clean your plate because they didn’t have food? And, if you said anything about
mailing your food to them, you’d get a slap in the head? And, if you didn’t
like the food, tough beans. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You’ll eat it and you’ll like it!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9FLkydogLss/UQQ76-W9gZI/AAAAAAAAAiA/cQbJvoerL44/s1600/sitting+at+the+table+kids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9FLkydogLss/UQQ76-W9gZI/AAAAAAAAAiA/cQbJvoerL44/s1600/sitting+at+the+table+kids.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is that table where I'd spend many a long evening. <br />This was obviously a better eating moment.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Where do parents come up with this stuff? And, how big did
they think our bellies were? No wonder so many of us have weight issues. And,
why did they assume liver was so delicious? If you like it so much, you eat it.
More for you. (I would never say that out loud or I’d get my mouth washed out
with soap, but I’d sure think it).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember long evenings sitting alone at the kitchen table
trying to choke down some eraser-like substance called liver. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I already got the, “You’ll just sit here all night until
it’s gone!” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You can only put so much masticated liver in your napkin
before they catch on. And forget about going to the bathroom more than once
with a mouthful to hopefully spit into the toilet and flush away forever.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And, you’d sit there crying with what seemed like a piece of
fiberboard in your mouth and get the, “Stop crying or I’ll give you something
to cry about!” You already did. It’s in my mouth, remember?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, did our parents get manuals at the hospital with all these
saying when we were born? Even Five Eleven and her cousin, PJ, heard similar
things and they were raised 2400 miles away. And, with all these sayings,
remember how they were always yelled or screamed at us?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Were you born in a barn?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You’re letting all the flies in!” (Like, really? ALL the
flies?)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m not heating the outside!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m not air-conditioning the outside!” (Even though we
didn’t have air-conditioning).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Either you’re in or you’re out!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Slam that door one more time, Missy!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Were you raised by heathens?” (If you’re a heathen, then
yes.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You’d want to come in for a drink from having been sent
outside to play all day when it was like 100 degrees out. And, you’ve already
been screamed at for going in and out a “hundred times.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Just drink out of the hose!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yea. That was safe advice. Hot hose water from the toxic
hose.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then, there were the times when you were bored. Remember in
those days we only had a handful of toys in our rooms? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Because we aren’t made out of money!” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UF-nzBaSpac/UQQ764f8JpI/AAAAAAAAAiE/s2tkh0N4sMI/s1600/smiling+christmas+kids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UF-nzBaSpac/UQQ764f8JpI/AAAAAAAAAiE/s2tkh0N4sMI/s1600/smiling+christmas+kids.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yea, my face stuck like that. I'm the one with the long hair on the left.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p>And, if you mentioned you were bored, you’d get the, “Oh,
I’ll give you something to do!” I’m not sure what that was, but the way it was
said, it never sounded good.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Heaven forbid” it should rain and we were stuck inside in
our rooms.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Don’t make me come up there and smack you!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Just wait until your father gets home!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It’s all fun and games until someone gets their eye put
out!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Don’t come crying to me!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’ll slap the taste right out of your mouth!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Don’t make me get the wooden spoon (or spatula, belt…) out!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“If it hurts, it’s working.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You’d get that last one if you got cut or scraped and your
mom was pouring alcohol on your wound because that’s what she did.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And, remember driving somewhere in the car? No one had
air-conditioning. It was always 900 degrees and you’d be sandwiched between
your little brother and sister and one or both of them were poking you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“He’s poking me!” you’d yell. Bad idea.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Do you want me to stop this car?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Do you want me to come back there?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“He’s making faces at me,” you’d say and be pouty and
half-ready to cry.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Stop it. Your face will freeze like that!” you’d get back.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then the disembodied hand would come from the front seat and
start swinging wildly trying to hit anyone or anything that was within reach.
All hell would break loose and the car would be swerving and we’d be screaming
and crying (or laughing which was never a good idea in that situation).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Gosh, those were the days, huh?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I guess I made different decisions about parenting when my
kids were born. I’m lucky that they are darned good girls though, too. Imagine,
if I had jumped off that bridge with my friends, I wouldn’t be here to do that.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>What did your parents say to you? Do you say the same things to your kids? Or, do you just think them?</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
@Ybbeige</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
http://facebook.com/barbarabeige</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
www.barbarabeige.com</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Unexpectations-ebook/dp/B005H5GGCE/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1359231704&sr=8-1&keywords=unexpectations" target="_blank">Unexpectations on Kindle</a></div>
Barbara Beigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09366173684776600667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-952025162221058229.post-84720480703595262352013-01-18T15:17:00.001-05:002013-02-14T19:38:51.283-05:00So, You Finally Met Your Girlfriend? And, She Wasn’t a Catfish?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here’s the scoop. I just spent the past month with Five
Eleven (formerly known as 5-11 SexyBoi SexyTwang). Day in. Day out. And, it was absolutely wonderful. Better than
wonderful. But, she’s your girlfriend and you’ve been dating, like, eight
months, you say? Yep. So true. But, it was long distance. 2400 miles apart. We
hadn’t actually met until December. Things just came up. With jobs and travel
plans and stuff. And, with my head injury, I couldn’t travel out there, so that
also limited things.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Friends would say that we just needed to meet. Hurry up, already. To see if we liked each other. To see if there was chemistry. Sparks.
Fireworks…that kind of stuff. What if she wasn’t a good kisser? Um, no, that
was not the case. (Phew! That could have been bad!)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZxYuZmsWG4A/UPmf-HISIeI/AAAAAAAAAhA/g748VRuejI8/s1600/2012-12-28_16-10-15_558.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZxYuZmsWG4A/UPmf-HISIeI/AAAAAAAAAhA/g748VRuejI8/s1600/2012-12-28_16-10-15_558.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Five Seven and Five Eleven isn't that much of a difference...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I met Five Eleven online. On Twitter, actually. I wrote
about her in <a href="http://www.barbarabeige.blogspot.com/2012/05/baby-photo-dating-story.html" target="_blank">The Baby Photo Dating Story</a>. I started talking to her as just a
friend. A friend going through a breakup just like me. Only her most recent
relationship was a longer one. But, I had once been there too. We talked as
friends about chocolate. If you know me, you know I love <a href="http://www.barbarabeige.blogspot.com/2011/08/sensuality-of-chocolate-aka-your-cocoa.html" target="_blank">chocolate</a>. She does too. And, we
talked about life. About love. About our hopes. Our dreams. About sex. Or, lack thereof. We
talked “as friends” for months. She wasn’t “my type.” But, she seemed safe. She was
good people. Yea, I was wrong on that. The not-my-type thing. I was totally
right about the good people part.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After my heart did its flippy thing and I fell for her, at
times I’d feel the outside pressure to have to meet her. But, if there’s one
thing I’ve learned from having a brain injury, it’s patience. In our world of
technology and high speed everything, things that are worth the most, aren’t
always immediately attainable.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I feel that we were fortunate to have time to build such a
good relationship long distance. Based on friendship first. She also helped me
a lot with my head injury and keeping me organized with appointments, helping
me ask the right questions, get the right treatments… Most people could have
walked away right then and there. And, I always half expected it. But, not Five
Eleven. Like she says, “through thick and thin, sickness and health.” Even
while she was here, she took care of me. Drove me everywhere I needed to go.
Did the things that she knew made me most nauseous. She made sure I rested and
didn’t do too much that would have hurt my head. How lucky am I?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, when I first met her, she was exactly what I imagined.
Maybe better. Yea. Better. Watching her movements and mannerisms was nice. And,
her swag. Yea. She’s got swag. She was as sweet and as kind as I had thought.
And handy. <a href="http://www.barbarabeige.blogspot.com/2012/10/butch-leaning.html" target="_blank">Holy handiness</a>! I thought I could rock a toolbelt. Wow. Not quite
like her. And, after an entire month, things never changed…well, not for the
worst…they just got better and better. Plans are already in the works for more
face time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-015RIpW01y8/UPmifu1YBTI/AAAAAAAAAhY/y77E30_xJj4/s1600/FiveEleven+fixing+stuff.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-015RIpW01y8/UPmifu1YBTI/AAAAAAAAAhY/y77E30_xJj4/s1600/FiveEleven+fixing+stuff.jpg" height="320" width="119" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sorry the eucalyptus is covering up some of the swag. Dang! That's good swag.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Isn’t this how people used to date? In the “old days?” The
really old days? Get to know someone over time with hand-written letters and
correspondence? (I recommend doing that, too, even with technology). Other people
are also doing this long-distance dating thing from what I hear. Unfortunately,
for some of them, it turns out to be a scam. Can you believe that? A scam! It’s
called catfishing. Or, to catfish. There’s a movie and TV show about it now. Both called <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Catfish:_The_TV_Show" target="_blank">Catfish</a>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Catfishing is trying to find love online and someone totally
misrepresenting themselves as someone else. I couldn’t imagine doing that. Life
is too short to lie about anything and to not be yourself. It’ll come back to
bite you if you do. Just look at the case of the Notre Dame football player,
<a href="http://deadspin.com/5976841/how-sports-illustrateds-manti-teo-story-got-published" target="_blank">Manti Te'o</a>. Lying about having a girlfriend who dies from cancer? Really? Why? What the
heck? Google that story and tell me what you think.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Meeting someone and <a href="http://www.lovingfromadistance.com/" target="_blank">dating long distance</a> takes trust. And,
honesty on both sides. Pics and videos are helpful. Along with the talking on
the phone. Long distance rates aren’t like they used to be…most everyone can
afford some talk time. You can hear a lot in a person’s voice. And, hopefully
enough to know if they are sincere and good people. Or, if there’s something
fishy about them. Catfish fishy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Have you ever been in a long distance relationship? Five Eleven and I have found the link above (dating long distance) to have helpful ideas. What has helped you? Would you ever date someone long distance? How long would you wait before you met them? Please share!</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
@Ybbeige (follow me on Twitter - you just can't date me)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
http://facebook.com/barbarabeige</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
www.barbarabeige.com</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Unexpectations-ebook/dp/B005H5GGCE/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1358537854&sr=8-1&keywords=unexpectations+barbara+beige" target="_blank">Unexpectations on Kindle</a></div>
Barbara Beigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09366173684776600667noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-952025162221058229.post-75214797739979302392012-12-15T20:46:00.002-05:002012-12-15T20:46:46.561-05:00Forever Changed<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i>I wrote this in
response to the shooting in <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Connecticut</st1:place></st1:state>
that killed 27 people.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Having lost two children of my own, I understand the
fragility of life. I try to rejoice and celebrate every moment that I have with my
two girls. Not only do I tell them often that I love them, but I try to show
them in everything that I do.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My heart is so saddened by yesterday’s shooting in <st1:state w:st="on">Connecticut</st1:state>. I feel like
a ripple went through the universe tearing into the mesh of mankind and
humanity. The grief of so many parents, families and friends can be felt by
all.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DOqomQ2ZVos/UM0mQY8Im5I/AAAAAAAAAfw/-u6__5nQkHo/s1600/IMG_7099.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DOqomQ2ZVos/UM0mQY8Im5I/AAAAAAAAAfw/-u6__5nQkHo/s1600/IMG_7099.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Years ago, I took this picture of Little One looking like a little imp with a dear friend that<br />I lost to cancer. Too wonderful a soul to have been taken so soon. No one should ever<br />feel the pain of losing someone they love too soon. For whatever reason.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I cry just thinking about the cowardice and instability of
the young man who senselessly took innocent lives. If you don’t want to live, don’t
take that option away from others. I know I shouldn’t wish ill upon others, but
at this moment I do. I hope that if there is a hell, that he is in the worst
one imaginable. It won’t take away the pain being felt, but it seems like there
is a slight consolation in that thought. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wish I could hug everyone affected by this horrible
tragedy and make their hurt go away. Their lives are forever changed. As are
ours. I can only hope that a new message is sent through the universe. A
message of changing thoughts. Of delicate lives. Of kindness. Of peace and love
for ourselves and others. A strong enough message felt by enough people that we
can change the world. Yea. The world where I talk about fluffy bunnies and
happy rainbows. Is that too much to hope for? Is that too much to ask?</div>
Barbara Beigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09366173684776600667noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-952025162221058229.post-78118396234668329022012-12-14T10:46:00.001-05:002013-02-14T19:37:57.706-05:00How Big is Your Beaver?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, the other day, Five Eleven showed me the cutest Youtube
video. It was called ‘<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u1yBWTK8WqE&feature=youtu.be" target="_blank">Beaver waves hi to a little kid.</a>’ I’m trying to figure out
if the beaver was slipping off the glass and it looked like it was waving, or
was it actually waving? Can we now add beavers to the realm of animals like
dolphins and chimpanzees?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know they are curious animals. I remember canoeing alone
in a small <st1:place w:st="on">New England</st1:place> lake once and I was
stalked by a beaver. I could see it watching me. It would be on one side of me,
then next thing I know, it would be somewhere else. Then, I’d unknowingly get
too close to its next spying spot and it would slam its tail on the surface of
the water and scare the bejeebees out of me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve always liked beavers but that term has more than one
connotation. And, yes, I like all the definitions. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beaver" target="_blank">Beaver</a>, as the critter
Castor canadensis here in <st1:place w:st="on">North America</st1:place>, or
<a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=beaver" target="_blank">beaver</a>, as a reference to the female genitalia.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-V_Wtv4pYorI/UMtG0I72T-I/AAAAAAAAAfQ/qmWh-680Wrk/s1600/beaver+dam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-V_Wtv4pYorI/UMtG0I72T-I/AAAAAAAAAfQ/qmWh-680Wrk/s1600/beaver+dam.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I have never got a picture of a beaver, just beaver dams. Because, as I said, <br />
they'd probably scare the crap out of me and I'd drop my camera in the water or something.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, that brought me to another memory. Once upon a time, I
was on the Board of Directors for an environmental group. We were having a
meeting with the woman who would be the new Project Coordinator, a position I
had previously held for many years. (I may have to write about that in the
future and how I beat Al Gore out for an environmental award we were both in
the running for. My resume actually says exactly that. “Beat Al Gore for
Environmental Award.” Not everyone can say that.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyway, our small Board was gathered in a casual setting
with big comfy leather furniture, because that’s what kind of group we were.
Our new Project Coordinator was telling us about her collection of taxidermy
animals that she had (with the license to actually have them). Since her
role would be going into schools and teaching kids about being good earth
stewards, I thought this was a wonderful addition to have. She told us about
the kinds of animals she had, which honestly, I can’t remember anything else
but one. The beaver.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Qp2U5OHfsig/UMtITMmYSmI/AAAAAAAAAfY/QI_RhaT8yxs/s1600/beaver+clipart.tif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Qp2U5OHfsig/UMtITMmYSmI/AAAAAAAAAfY/QI_RhaT8yxs/s1600/beaver+clipart.tif" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sorry I don't have any more exciting beaver pics than this. <br />
Came out of a giant ClipArt book I have.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was so excited that she had one and I knew they could vary
in size from about 35 to 75 pounds. So, without thinking, I asked her the question
that could only be brought up in this exact situation. The question that would
otherwise only be used in some skanky sex chatroom.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“How big is your beaver?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m sure she answered me, or us, at the time. I, however,
was so distracted by one of the other female Board members who suddenly left
the room without even excusing herself, that I couldn’t tell you the answer. At
a break soon after, I went outside to check on her. We’ll call her Lisa. Lisa
was outside in the cold, brisk air. Tears were streaming down her face.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I went to console her because that’s what I do, but soon
realized that she was crying because she was laughing so hard. You know when
someone tries to tell you something so funny and you can’t understand what in
the heck they are saying because they are laughing so hard and you end up
laughing with them just because they are laughing? That’s what happened.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yea. It was one of those moments. When I finally got the
gist of why she was laughing, like her, I was now an uncontrollable mess. All I
could think was, ‘Oh my god! How could I not have realized that I asked another
woman how big her beaver was?’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think, in this rare instance, in this moment of taxidermy
conversation, that this was the only moment in the history of mankind where one
woman could honestly and innocently ask another, “How big is your beaver?” You
try that, Al Gore.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
@Ybbeige</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://facebook.com/barbarabeige">http://facebook.com/barbarabeige</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.barbarabeige.com/">www.barbarabeige.com</a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Unexpectations-ebook/dp/B005H5GGCE" target="_blank">Married Woman Coming Out Story</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Barbara Beigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09366173684776600667noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-952025162221058229.post-32817796799949654722012-12-04T22:41:00.001-05:002012-12-04T22:41:38.446-05:00Two Halves Make a Whole<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<i>Thoughts go through our minds when we are with the one we love...</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Vw4CE3eqgMA/UL7BoCqgGsI/AAAAAAAAAe0/qKHjN1pykSI/s1600/Half+that+makes+me+whole.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Vw4CE3eqgMA/UL7BoCqgGsI/AAAAAAAAAe0/qKHjN1pykSI/s1600/Half+that+makes+me+whole.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
@Ybbeige<br />
http://facebook.com/barbarabeige<br />
www.barbarabeige.comBarbara Beigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09366173684776600667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-952025162221058229.post-72319305096116544972012-11-30T10:34:00.000-05:002012-11-30T10:49:04.999-05:00Born to Surf: Just Haven’t Done It Yet<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Even late in November,
I’ve been eyeing the surfers off the coast of <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Maine</st1:place></st1:state>…yes, they’re in wetsuits, but dang it,
they’re surfing!</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do you ever feel like you’d be really good at something?
Something you just keep Jonesin’ to do? Something you were born to do? My thing
is surfing. Last year, I was going to try it with a friend but we just couldn’t
coordinate our schedules with the waves then the drop in temps and my lack of a
wet suit.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There hasn’t been a day in the last year and then some where
I’ve seen big waves and haven’t just dreamed about riding them. I’ve been
loving boogie boarding the last several years which I think is close. The
bigger the waves, the better. Got the whole reading the ocean and paddling to catch
the big ones down. Seems to me that surfing is just an extension of that…just
need to stand up while catching that wave. And since I always do a push up off
the board when I come in, I know I could get up on a longer board without a
problem.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0t1OMS-Yx8M/ULjO-5jeElI/AAAAAAAAAeE/XEgdKu5YY4o/s1600/Born+to+surf+pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0t1OMS-Yx8M/ULjO-5jeElI/AAAAAAAAAeE/XEgdKu5YY4o/s1600/Born+to+surf+pic.jpg" height="274" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Summer of 2011. That's Ocean Hair, Baby!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s hard for me to explain the sheer joy that I feel when
I’m in the water riding a wave…even if it has only been on a boogie board. The
few times I went out to do that this summer were the only times when I haven’t
felt my head pound from my head injury in May. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bglYbiWogwM/ULjPC6gxeuI/AAAAAAAAAeM/ZfiEsNcwsw0/s1600/born+to+surf+2+pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bglYbiWogwM/ULjPC6gxeuI/AAAAAAAAAeM/ZfiEsNcwsw0/s1600/born+to+surf+2+pic.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Catching my breath between rides on an awesome boogie boarding day.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know that I have some more healing to do before I can go
surfing. There’s that whole balance thing that is kind of an issue. Seems
rather necessary on a surf board. I keep walking on the beach. One of my
neurologists said that it’s great to help with balance (and I suppose if I was
to fall, it’s rather soft). Can’t beat walking on one of my favorite places in
the world.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--2oY7wAr5Z0/ULjPELe5IdI/AAAAAAAAAec/Xd_6npEY6Dk/s1600/surfers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--2oY7wAr5Z0/ULjPELe5IdI/AAAAAAAAAec/Xd_6npEY6Dk/s1600/surfers.jpg" height="182" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You can't tell me this wouldn't be fun?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not sure how a girl from Upstate New York (the way upstate,
not the just out of NYC upstate) can have such a love of the ocean. Maybe it’s
my water sign (Cancer – the crab)? Maybe it was from summers spent playing in
the big waves of <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">Lake</st1:placetype>
<st1:placename w:st="on">Ontario</st1:placename></st1:place>? Not sure exactly
what it is, but the taste of the salt water on my lips and the way I feel so at
home in the water just adds to the feeling I get when I think about surfing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-adhANM22KBQ/ULjPDcZpmjI/AAAAAAAAAeU/pw5c0h0fkiw/s1600/surfer+bright+water.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-adhANM22KBQ/ULjPDcZpmjI/AAAAAAAAAeU/pw5c0h0fkiw/s1600/surfer+bright+water.jpg" height="181" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yea. I'll be doing that soon.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And for now, it’s a goal for me. Not that I can rush the
healing that my brain still needs to do, but it’s something I’m looking forward
to. Really looking forward to. Even if I haven’t done it yet, I will. After
all, I was born to surf.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Is there something you
feel you were born to do? Are you doing it? Please share!<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #efefef; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">
@Ybbeige</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #efefef; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://facebook.com/barbarabeige" style="color: #16795f; text-decoration: initial;">http://facebook.com/barbarabeige</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.barbarabeige.com/" style="color: #16795f; text-decoration: initial;">www.barbarabeige.com</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1155cc;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Unexpectations-Barbara-Beige/dp/1457504162" style="color: #16795f; text-decoration: initial;" target="_blank">http://www.amazon.com/<wbr></wbr>Unexpectations-Barbara-Beige/<wbr></wbr>dp/1457504162</a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
<br />Barbara Beigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09366173684776600667noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-952025162221058229.post-68071162253289312202012-11-27T17:38:00.000-05:002012-11-27T17:38:21.117-05:00But, You Look Fine…<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
One of the hardest parts of having this head injury has been
fighting what others say. I wrote about it once and I’m still dealing with it.
Since day one, I’ve heard, “But, you look fine.” For the most part, yea, I look
in the mirror and see that same person that had been there before (minus a
little spark in my eyes). I like to joke and say that I can’t help being so
adorable…I was born that way. I guess if I had ended up splitting my head open
and having some sort of disfiguring injury, I might elicit a bit more sympathy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-T1fcv3dh4q0/ULU7nOYSNeI/AAAAAAAAAdU/z9q3XZPheIA/s1600/self+in+mirror.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-T1fcv3dh4q0/ULU7nOYSNeI/AAAAAAAAAdU/z9q3XZPheIA/s1600/self+in+mirror.jpg" height="320" width="112" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I may look fine on the outside. Inside...not so much.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s hard for friends, and even family, to look at me and
think that I’ve got something wrong going on. “You look fine,” they say. What
no one sees is the extreme thought and energy that I need to use now to accomplish
even the simplest of tasks. When I have to focus and concentrate on doing
something, I end up absolutely exhausted. Like I ran a marathon. I’ll have to
take a nap that may be longer than the amount of time it took to do the task.
Seems stupid, I know, especially when I used to be the Queen of Multi-Tasking. The
previous me would think it was stupid too. But, to those with <a href="http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/post-concussion-syndrome/DS01020" target="_blank">post-concussive syndrome</a>, or PCS, this is normal.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Being able to take a short walk a few times a week is a
success. I’m trying to work my way up to a mile. For me, that seems crazy.
Especially when it’s on relatively flat ground, too. Like the beach. I miss my
days of hiking. Doing the 4,000+ footers in the <a href="http://www.visitwhitemountains.com/" target="_blank">White Mountains</a> of New
Hampshire. Going out on those trails that say they are only for the most
experienced of hikers. The ones where if you fall in a crevice, you’ll need
rope to climb out. The ones where if you fall, you have to do everything in
your power to grab hold of a root or something to stop your sliding descent.
The ones where you bring survival gear just because you never know what
situation you’ll run into or what weather may blow in. Now, I walk a hundred
feet or so and rest a few moments. You can’t tell me that isn’t frustrating.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B2lZKppOygI/ULVAGcO-ukI/AAAAAAAAAds/WTZxNgaIPoQ/s1600/IMG_0883.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B2lZKppOygI/ULVAGcO-ukI/AAAAAAAAAds/WTZxNgaIPoQ/s1600/IMG_0883.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is a goal of mine...to be able to stand on top of a mountain again.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Admitting your limitations to yourself is hard. Knowing what
you used to be capable of doing and comparing it to what you can do now is
hard. I look like I should be able to walk any distance or even go for a run. I
look like I should be able to work. I look like I could mow my own lawn. I look
like I could go out in a noisy restaurant or bar and meet up with people. I
look like I could be in a store for more than 40 minutes. I look like I could
ride a bike. I look like I could vacuum my house without earplugs. I look like…
I look like I could do a lot of things. But, right now still, I can’t.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A friend of mine, who is also a psychologist, has been a
wonderful support in this whole, ‘But, you look fine’ thing. He has <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lyme_disease" target="_blank">Lyme Disease</a>. I’ll call him Jim. To the average person, Jim is a good-looking, normal
guy. No spots, no bulls-eyes on his face. He’s smart and funny. He’s a normal
Joe. Or, Jim. Because of the Lyme, he has fare-ups where he is absolutely
exhausted, where his clothes feel like they’re made out of sandpaper, where he
has excruciating headaches. But, he looks fine. People with cancer can also
look fine, another friend pointed out. Ask them how fine they feel.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This isn’t a case of mind-over-matter either. It’s just a
brain injury. A real, honest-to-goodness invisible injury that is just taking
its own sweet time to heal. I know that I’m better off than a lot of people who
have had concussions. And, I’m worse off than others. I’m thanking my lucky
stars that I can still write and spell (though, I do actually mess that up
often these days and as a writer and <a href="http://www.hasbro.com/games/en_US/shop/details.cfm?R=73DA2073-7419-1014-92FB-A61F6667B7F9:en_US" target="_blank">Boggle</a> and <a href="http://www.scrabble.com/" target="_blank">Scrabble</a> psycho, that’s tough).
I can function on my own for most daily tasks. Thanks to all my friends who
have helped me with the tasks I just can’t do. I can still drive. I can still
laugh and smile, though I don’t always understand things like I used to.
Especially if I wasn’t fully concentrating on what someone was saying.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, if you see me, or someone else with a silent illness,
give that person a little slack, or maybe a little help. Just because we may
look fine, it doesn’t mean we really are.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Do you or someone you
know “look fine” but aren’t and are going through a similar situation? Please
share below.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
@Ybbeige</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://facebook.com/barbarabeige">http://facebook.com/barbarabeige</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.barbarabeige.com/">www.barbarabeige.com</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1155cc;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Unexpectations-Barbara-Beige/dp/1457504162" style="background-color: white;" target="_blank">http://www.amazon.com/<wbr></wbr>Unexpectations-Barbara-Beige/<wbr></wbr>dp/1457504162</a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Barbara Beigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09366173684776600667noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-952025162221058229.post-14410095631596532462012-11-13T15:39:00.000-05:002012-11-13T15:47:52.270-05:00Kisses Into the Wind<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-haUMCDVlotk/UKKvwJucoVI/AAAAAAAAAc4/pgTE9jVbXiE/s1600/kisses+into+the+wind.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-haUMCDVlotk/UKKvwJucoVI/AAAAAAAAAc4/pgTE9jVbXiE/s400/kisses+into+the+wind.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
@Ybbeige<br />
http://facebook.com/barbarabeige<br />
www.barbarabeige.comBarbara Beigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09366173684776600667noreply@blogger.com0