tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10819049215490151772024-02-19T00:10:25.837-08:00The Valiant Efforts of a Half-Arsed HomeschoolerIt's amazing the amount of chutzpah you've got when you have no idea what you're doing.Marissa Genta Pinedahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041902734181450721noreply@blogger.comBlogger94125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1081904921549015177.post-63920557081012789662016-06-26T17:16:00.001-07:002016-06-26T17:22:54.860-07:00Moving!<p><font size="4">I have loved blogging at The Valiant Efforts of the Half-Arsed Homeschooler—I started it when I was relatively new to homeschooling and I needed an outlet to “talk” about it—I needed a place for my musings, and to shore up my confidence. Also, I hoped that my posts would demystify homeschooling for my public-schooling friends and family. </font></p> <p><font size="4">As time wore on, my focus shifted from solely homeschool posts, to other aspects of my life. I found I have a lot to write about beyond home education, and want a broader platform in which to share.</font></p> <p><font size="4">As I take the world at a slant and write to understand as much as to share insights, I have named my new blog Talk Quirky To Me<a href="www.talkquirkytome.com">.</a> My hope is to connect more fully with others through my writing. I will still blog about homeschooling, but I will also write about pop-culture, literature, current events, and whatever else piques interest.</font></p> <p><font size="4">Currently, TQTM is under construction and I’m still playing around with format and whatnot, but if you want to wander around over there, please join me at </font><a href="http://www.talkquirkytome.com"><font size="4">www.talkquirkytome.com</font></a><font size="4"> !</font></p>Marissa Genta Pinedahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041902734181450721noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1081904921549015177.post-7977147711362949962016-03-31T23:55:00.001-07:002016-04-01T00:00:58.579-07:00Here’s your sign.<p> </p> <p><font size="4">Comedian Bill Engvall has often said that stupid people should have to wear a sign that says “I’m stupid” as a warning to others of their idiocy. He tells anecdotes in his stand-up routines of people asking him asinine questions, to which he responds sarcastically and finishes with the comment “Here’s your sign.” </font> <p><font size="4">Back in February, I wrote a late-night Sunday post declaring that I was quitting my Krav Maga instructor training. I told myself that I would still continue to train in Krav Maga, but just as a practitioner. Already, I had some misgivings about quitting instructor training, but the relief from the stress I had put myself under trying to keep up with an impossible training schedule (that I had created myself...) was immense. I went to lunch with my husband on Monday and told him how I felt and that I would sit with the decision for a week and then re-evaluate. I fully expected I would be perfectly okay with quitting. I was not looking for anything to change my mind. I just wanted some time to come to terms with the heart-wrenching (but relief inducing) decision.</font> <p><font size="4">Almost immediately after that lunch, and for the rest of the week, every song I heard on the radio was a message of overcoming struggle, doing hard things, reaching for dreams, and defying the odds. There were also songs that spoke to my desire for comfort and reassurance. I am a chronic station hopper, because I don't like listening to ads, but very pop, country, and classical station I tuned into seemed to be telling me not to give up. It was so bizarre. I thought maybe I was just picking up on all these messages because I was more ambivalent about quitting than I wanted to believe. “I’m not looking for a sign to continue,” I told myself more than once. “I have made my decision and I’m okay with it.” </font> <p><font size="4">The next day, I went to my Krav Maga class. I told myself I was just going to go and enjoy class as a regular student. I hadn’t told my instructor about quitting---frankly, I didn’t yet have the guts, but figured I’d let him know for sure at the end of the week, after I’d processed my feelings of failure and disappointment (and braced myself for his.) </font> <p><font size="4">When I walked into class, I was surprised to see a former Krav student who hadn't been to class in over a year. This guy and I had frequently partnered in class and become friends. I adored him and learned a lot from him—o</font><font size="4">nce upon a time, after a particularly strenuous class, this buddy made the comment, "I can always think of a million reasons not to workout, but I never regret doing it." I was heartbroken when he had to quit due to health issues, so seeing his ugly mug that day was the best thing ever! </font> <p><font size="4">His reappearance reminded me of his comment, which has always stayed with me, and I couldn't help thinking about it as we bantered in class that day. Involuntarily, I thought, "I can always think of a million reasons not to do this instructor training, but I'll never regret doing it." I shook off the thought, feeling firm about wearing the "quit" decision, but I had a great time in class and headed home feeling on top of the world after a good workout and catching up with my old buddy.</font> <p><font size="4">Later that day, another former Krav friend texted me an encouraging meme. Though she no longer does Krav anymore, we hang out together fairly regularly. The last time I saw her, we got talking about my training and my frustrations with it (I hadn't yet decided to quit, but was beginning to lean that way) and she had encouraged me to keep going and not let my fears and setbacks get me down. Anyway, it had been a couple of weeks since that conversation when she texted me. I assumed she had read my blog post, and said as much when I texted her back. Turns out she hadn't, she had just been thinking about our conversation and felt impressed to remind me why I had started instructor training in the first place and to stay focused and positive.</font> <p><font size="4">Throughout the rest of the week (and the next, and the next) I ran into people who wanted to talk to me about my experience with Krav Maga, stumbled across articles, scriptures, and even billboards that seemed positioned to encourage me to stay the course and not quit instructor training. I had a couple of friends who read my blog tell me their stories of their journeys in pursuing their dreams and the lessons they learned along the way. </font> <p><font size="4">I sought none of it--everyone and everything came to me.</font> <p><font size="4">Before a week had passed since my “I quit” post, I had a change of heart. OF COURSE I would continue instructor training.</font> <font size="4">With so much encouragement and so many SIGNS all but hitting me over the head, I realized that I had never really wanted to give up—I was just overwhelmed and living in a vacuum. I needed to tap into the support that was so freely manifesting itself. </font> <p><font size="4">I felt a bit foolish about having publicly declared "I quit!" only to to flip-flop back. How wishy-washy is that? I thought about removing the post. I thought about immediately writing an addendum post (ta-da! Here it is!) but I took the next couple of weeks to do some soul-analysis. I’ve decided to leave the post up—my instructor told me when I started that it would be life changing and that I was guaranteed to learn a TON about myself in the training process. All my feelings of inadequacy, the overwhelm, the fear, the failures—they are as much a part of the process as the victories. So—the post stays—if for nothing but a chronicle of where I was mentally and spiritually at the time.</font> <p><font size="4">I realized that I had been trying for months to shoehorn myself into a training schedule and mindset that goes against everything important and necessary in my life. I had misplaced my priorities and was working against them all. My expectations and the demands I was putting on myself and my family were unreasonable and unsustainable. Collapse was inevitable! (I can see that NOW.)</font> <p><font size="4">In the last few weeks, I have felt very tender and raw, as I've rearranged my life to focus on God first, family second, and Krav after that. I'm amazed at how putting these things in their proper places in my life has made all the difference. I didn't realize how isolated I had made myself, and I reached out for help. I started with prayer for clarity of my purpose and responsibilities. I talked to my husband about what he needs and wants and what our family needs and wants from me and am actively working to be the wife and mother my family deserves. Finally, I contacted my instructor and asked for help with training. I had been going it alone, but failing miserably (“I am a rock! I am an island! I am a moron!”) He said he'd only been waiting for me to ask for help--and then threw me in the deep end by asking me to teach some classes while he was out of town. </font> <p><font size="4">Well, over the past two weeks, I've taught four classes. I was <s>terrified</s> nervous, but, I prepared lesson plans and executed them. I worked the classes hard and got honest feedback. My classmates--my students!--were so enthusiastic and kind. It's been a great learning experience and I am eager and excited for more. (Still a little <s>terrified </s>nervous.)</font> <p><font size="4">And here's an interesting finale to this post---Facebook reminded me that a year ago, to the day, I was at Krav Maga Worldwide HQ in Los Angeles training in a Level 1 class taught Michael Margolin, a fourth degree black belt and co-founder of Krav Maga Worldwide. I remember feeling totally out of my league...wondering if I’d ever be strong enough, fast enough, or smart enough to become a Krav Maga instructor—and too embarrassed to voice my goal to Michael (which my instructor back home told me to do!) I was definitely terrified and nervous, but eager and excited for more. Coincidence? I think not.</font> <p><font size="4"> Marissa, here’s your sign.</font>Marissa Genta Pinedahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041902734181450721noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1081904921549015177.post-74881719125223205462016-03-09T20:40:00.001-08:002016-03-09T20:40:35.332-08:00Slice of Life<p>This afternoon, while I was clearing out a box of random stuff, I came across an old scrapbooking magazine, full of quizzes and questions to spark the journaling portion of a modern scrapbook page. Yes, I used to be an avid scrapbooker, complete with pinking shears and floral doodads to add to my acid free pages. Nowadays, I blog, which is a lot easier, put provides far less of a tactile experience. Whatever. Anyway, in the back of the magazine I found, there are 18 sets of questions to ask yourself (or whoever you’re wanting to know more about.) Here are my answers to the first set of questions:</p> <p>1. The last person I sent a card to: I haven’t sent cards to anyone in a long time---I can’t even remember! Christmas cards to friends and family back in 2007???</p> <p>2. What I ate for lunch today: <a href="http://www.melskitchencafe.com/slow-cooker-coconut-curry-pork/">Coconut Curry Pork</a>—a new recipe I tried this month and loved. Served over mashed potatoes. Yummy!</p> <p>3. Something I just learned: Well, I’ve known this for awhile, but I was reminded of it again today---I don’t like working on committees. I do not play well with others. Please just leave me alone and let me do my thing.</p> <p>4. My favorite song this year: Renegades by X Ambassadors—it just speaks to me—and I love it even more after watching the official music video. </p><iframe height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/1u-niluB8HI" frameborder="0" width="560" allowfullscreen></iframe> <p> </p> <p>5. The last book I read: The Abolition of Man by C. S. Lewis. I started it for a book club I just joined and it kind of lost me, but I found that these videos helped, and then I was all over it! </p> <p><iframe height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/tX5e6eSkaMc" frameborder="0" width="560" allowfullscreen></iframe></p> <p><iframe height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Gux4Ldy8cN8" frameborder="0" width="420" allowfullscreen></iframe></p> <p><iframe height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Z60lncsXQrE" frameborder="0" width="420" allowfullscreen></iframe></p> <p><iframe height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/yrTG8P93J8g" frameborder="0" width="420" allowfullscreen></iframe></p> <p>6. What I’m wearing right now: black track pants and a turquoise microfleece sweatshirt</p> <p>7. The last phone call I made: To my friend Monica, to tell her she ought to look into selling her organic grape leaves to the local Mediterranean markets.</p> <p>8. Inside, I don’t feel very different from when I was (how old?): I feel 18 in my head, but my body and life experience (and how others see and interact with me) indicates that I am in early middle age.</p> <p>9. The last restaurant I ate at was: IHOP, for National Pancake Day. We took the kids and donated to the Make a Wish Foundation.</p> <p>10. My favorite TV show is: King of the Hill, but I am also really enjoying Person of Interest and House.</p>Marissa Genta Pinedahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041902734181450721noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1081904921549015177.post-6537103546463614132016-02-23T22:08:00.001-08:002016-02-23T22:08:05.383-08:00Glimpses: February 2016<p><font size="3">So we have these two adorable ginger kittens, Fred and George, who are fast becoming not so adorable---they need to be neutered before they turn into awful tom cats. Unfortunately, in order to get them neutered, I have to establish them as veterinary patients first—and the vet won’t fix the kitties until they have all their shots, which are done in series—so we began that this month. Note to self---never take on free kittens. If you must have kittens, get them from the humane society---animals can’t leave the shelter until they are altered and vaccinated—Boom, done in one day (and for WAAAAY cheaper than at a vet’s office.)</font> </p> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Oz8ALOozrtI/Vs1G1cbev8I/AAAAAAAAIog/NdNkoVCHNeE/s1600-h/20160205_082552%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img title="20160205_082552" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="20160205_082552" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUenL2Rxun3upEAfzpaw0G5ZJbZ3IMMbrSKQVRIsR8wWors-9AOP7XVPdpE_0gN5tfPaMqSzDk3U3EcykQ9dbwL6BYb37EOh7xSm9vlF7iwD73r0fSd9PR-faLhiG8zRyVLziZI_nb4LA/?imgmax=800" width="272" height="490"></a></p> <p><font size="3">My kids had a piano performance this month called Monster Concert—10 or 15 pianos on stage, with two or three kids at each piano—all trying to play the same song in sync with a conductor. Each concert has a theme, this year’s was “The Roaring Twenties.” Normally, we enjoy the hour-plus concert, but this time, since our kids performed early in the concert, we rounded them up and bailed as soon as they were done. We’d had an incredibly busy week, with a still busier weekend in the making and snatched ourselves away as soon as we could to enjoy some ALL TOGETHER family time—at our favorite family restaurant, Chik-Fil-A. This night’s meal was compliments of Christmas gift cards from Grandpa Gordon and Grandma Jen. They know us well.</font></p> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-bC5B6Kkeqq0/Vs1G37x9hrI/AAAAAAAAIoo/nlGOXGeR10w/s1600-h/20160206_195626%25255B6%25255D.jpg"><img title="20160206_195626" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="20160206_195626" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGvRGbm1psC0yl8WgwhlO6VTGzfFIJ3V75W5y9ETc3K4iVCbXEjFAE4G-nDcKjOIuqHFpwND07m1jt4KY13nQPI1-bu_ZVc5hjUGux-_SLPQwhGTrs7fJz9R7fbfMNoB-hG_pmB17j1jg/?imgmax=800" width="452" height="265"></a></p> <p><font size="3">Ellen needs to log more driving hours before she can take her driver’s license test, so I let her drive me and the kids to some friends’ house, about thirty minutes away. She did great, though we had one white knuckle moment when she took a corner a LEETLE too fast! She cackled at my reaction, which made me think she swerved around the turn on purpose. I freaked out on her for taking risks to scare me, before I realized she hadn’t intended to take the corner so hard and sharp, and that she had only laughed out of stress and relief that nothing bad happened. I should have known---Ellen is NOT the daredevil in the family. Where she learned silliness in response to stress, I have noooOOOooo idea.</font></p> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-tIQUdjGtQzg/Vs1G5avC39I/AAAAAAAAIow/7SGWkKECUXg/s1600-h/20160211_152451%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img title="20160211_152451" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="20160211_152451" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-WlZMNx9dYZw/Vs1G56wlfnI/AAAAAAAAIo0/UaIV8610Wyw/20160211_152451_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="300" height="541"></a></p> <p><font size="3">Neenie is learning how to read and write—I LOVE this stage---it’s so awesome to listen to her sound out words and try to spell them. Also, I love the prolific artwork she produces. The kids have taken to calling the bean-bodied, stick-limbed portraits “Potato People.” Here is Potato People MOM. I cannot get over the Bert from Sesame Street eyebrows and disgruntled expression. Clearly, she’s been studying me.</font></p> <p> <a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-QtvRKnJq-jI/Vs1G7FhMRpI/AAAAAAAAIo4/KLSmRQlgS4E/s1600-h/20160212_103604%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img title="20160212_103604" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="20160212_103604" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-j1qdBNxeAeo/Vs1G7b5CLyI/AAAAAAAAIo8/XS1ywL-JhQQ/20160212_103604_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="272" height="490"></a></p> <p><font size="3">Have you ever heard the story of </font><a href="http://thebloggess.com/2011/06/and-thats-why-you-should-learn-to-pick-your-battles/"><font size="3">Beyonce, the five foot metal chicken?</font></a><font size="3"> Well, I found Beyonce’s BFF. I fell in love with this flamingo at the local craft store and now I yearn for it. Someday, my precious, you will be mine. And all your little friends, too.</font></p> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-1w8HuR5K02s/Vs1G79RBQvI/AAAAAAAAIpA/sOIBvMCEDWs/s1600-h/20160212_130103%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img title="20160212_130103" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="20160212_130103" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-pNQSc458Z1E/Vs1G8ee_CbI/AAAAAAAAIpE/QhMAlEBzM70/20160212_130103_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="171" height="307"></a> <a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Z-oa7FT48Ro/Vs1G87AKhpI/AAAAAAAAIpI/3CWpI3C090U/s1600-h/20160212_130550%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img title="20160212_130550" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="20160212_130550" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-S4MpB0FtIXc/Vs1G9e9Sg2I/AAAAAAAAIpM/iq5_grgvHAM/20160212_130550_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="168" height="307"></a> <a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-vawIiGl-YZY/Vs1G_OJb3PI/AAAAAAAAIpQ/TqqUm3rk1GI/s1600-h/20160212_130127%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img title="20160212_130127" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="20160212_130127" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-puiNHX_Dxrc/Vs1G_qo-gJI/AAAAAAAAIpU/oO2yzA8EkS8/20160212_130127_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="166" height="303"></a></p> <p><font size="3">My kids are as obsessed with Star Wars as I am with Harry Potter, so---somehow, they got it into their heads that because we have an annual Harry Potter month, we should have a Star Wars month as well. I’m going to be honest here, Star Wars is not my jam. But, February is hard for homeschoolers because </font><a href="http://thehalfarsedhomeschooler.blogspot.com/2011/02/burnout.html"><font size="3">BURNOUT.</font></a><font size="3"> Star Wars seemed the perfect thing to motivate the kids in their academics, so---we’re in the thick Jedi/Darth/Sith shenanigans. We have painted rocks to look like SW characters, played a “drinking game” while watching Episode IV. Of course, we substituted candy for shots. (I STILL couldn’t make it through the movie without falling asleep---Skittles and chocolate chips notwithstanding.) We have listened to the Star Wars soundtracks and read </font><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Who-George-Lucas-Was/dp/0448479478/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1456291772&sr=1-1"><font size="3">a biography about George Lucas</font></a><font size="3">. Also, we are reading Ian Doescher’s </font><a href="http://www.amazon.com/William-Shakespeares-Star-Wars-Doescher/dp/1594746370/ref=tmm_hrd_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr="><font size="3">“William Shakespeare’s Star Wars: Verily, A New Hope”</font></a><font size="3"> and I am LOVING it. The movie is boring and doesn’t make sense to me, but somehow it’s unbelievably awesome written out in iambic pentameter. I thought my kids would only find it tolerable, but I was delighted to see they enjoy the absurdity of such a mash-up of language patterns and pop-culture. I have discovered the intergalactic portal to the love of REAL Shakespeare. I am over the moons of Tatooine about this.</font></p> <p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmhpeffd3ayxkANKDPe_k_avXaG84Kbabyg7oo3IKSaaapuBqL8fyuINDFLg8n5gwrNzj0Cn27Kx_zdke6Vp58-m_icDyybHymHaiDGMIO3oGpKmgFHyoxcprXIwbJxGTjb1T-qgML__A/s1600-h/20160212_170634%25255B6%25255D.jpg"><img title="20160212_170634" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="20160212_170634" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-EGpxTRY8IJ8/Vs1IwC3EaNI/AAAAAAAAIpo/ZpcdyoAKj8w/20160212_170634_thumb%25255B3%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="471" height="276"></a></p> <p><font size="3">Finally, the weather has been pretty awesome for February and the kids are spending lots of time outdoors. Here’s a shot of the kids playing “blob tag” at our regular “game day” with friends—it’s like one big 3 hour recess!</font></p> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-0saV20Jiyds/Vs1IwgdYegI/AAAAAAAAIps/Ny3WDOdcIDQ/s1600-h/20160216_164403%25255B7%25255D.jpg"><img title="20160216_164403" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="20160216_164403" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-kn_XUtJj2e8/Vs1IxC9idaI/AAAAAAAAIpw/sb0GePPr0Uw/20160216_164403_thumb%25255B4%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="499" height="301"></a></p>Marissa Genta Pinedahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041902734181450721noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1081904921549015177.post-72721983612076107062016-02-08T00:07:00.001-08:002016-02-08T00:07:16.749-08:00A Scarlet Letter<p><font size="4">I don’t know what it is about Sunday nights, but every single Sunday night, as I lie down in bed, I start stressing over the coming week—first and foremost, the thought of getting enough sleep to be able to successfully get through my 5:30 AM kickboxing class and STILL function for the rest of the day/week. </font> <p><font size="4">Inevitably, no matter how early I go to bed, I toss and turn and fret and stress over the time ticking away as I can’t sleep and think about how each minute I’m not sleeping will make it that much harder to function the next day what with getting up so ridiculously early. Then, I start thinking how much I hate getting up that early and how even though I do it, it doesn’t seem to be doing me any good and only stressing me out---all that work and sacrifice of sleep to not lose an ounce, not get faster or even really stronger, or any closer to my goal of getting fit so I can go do this dumb Krav Maga instructor thing. My only gains? Exhaustion, anxiety, and frustration. And injuries and achy joints.</font> <p><font size="4">The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results. Well, all hail the Queen of Insanity. As I lay in bed tonight, I took a hard look at myself and my absolute inability to convert from being a night person into a highly productive morning person and thought, “Is this really worth my time? Am I really ever going to become something I’m not? Because I am not seeing results. Not even any. And I am tired. And there is no value added here. This dream is bankrupt, but I keep putting in deposits. This is ridiculous and insane and stupid. I am insane and stupid to be putting myself through this. What on earth makes me think I can do any of this crap long term? Because I can’t even do it short-term!” </font> <p><font size="4">The ONLY thing that keeps me going at this point is that if I bail out of this Krav Maga instructor thing and admit defeat/disinterest/apathy to my instructor, he’ll see me as a failure. But maybe, I don’t care anymore. I’m too damn tired to care anymore. </font> <p><font size="4">Oh, and I’ve had a couple of friends ask me that if I quit now, what will it teach my kids? If I give up on this goal I set, it will OBVIOUSLY teach them that I’m a quitter and a loser and that will set the example for them to become quitters and losers. But then I argue back, in a lot of ways, I am already their example of what NOT to do---they have told me this—and I’m like, “yeah, well, good to see reverse psychology is working here, then. You’re welcome.”</font> <p><font size="4">It’s not like I NEED to do this Krav thing... it’s not like it will make me more employable. It’s not like I NEED to do it to put food on the table. </font><font size="4">I don’t even intend to become an actual paid instructor upon completion of the training and certification. I started this stupid thing to prove to myself that I COULD do it. But, it’s been over three years since I made this goal, and I think it’s pretty damn obvious now that I CANNOT do it. Also, I’m so incredibly stressed out over the fact that I’m getting older and it shows in my body and brain function. It takes longer and longer to recover from anything. My body cannot keep up with the dream. </font> <p><font size="4">I should just throw in the towel and revel in becoming Jabba the Hutt. At least then I’d quit worrying about everything I put in my mouth and being unable to sleep despite all the breathing exercises and meditation and going-to-bed-early and honestly acquired EXHAUSTION. Apparently, I was born to be a hedonist. I come from a long line of night owls. I should embrace that. All of my friends who are pushing or are well into their 40s have begun embracing the fact that they are middle aged. They are letting go of the idea that if they work their butts off they will retain their svelteness and youth. They have accepted this is fallacy and they are at peace. They have seen the light and it is a neon sign saying “Embrace your muffin top! Binge on Netflix and cookies! It doesn’t get any better, so you may as well enjoy the ride to decrepitude.” </font> <p><font size="4">I long for this kind of self-acceptance. As I was agonizing over my workouts and the struggle to eat right and lose weight, one friend said, “I’m done with all that. I’m ready to just be fat and happy.” (And she is a healthy eater and NOT fat!!!) And I was JEALOUS of her contentment. </font> <p><font size="4">All my life I have agonized over not being “something” enough. When I was young, I was not pretty enough (though I was thin then, and my mother often pointed out that at least I had THAT going for me.) I wasn’t witty enough, or cool enough, or whatever enough. And I agonized over it. Now, I’m finally in a place where I’m totally at peace not being “classically beautiful” or the sharpest tool in the shed. I have embraced the fact that I am weird, think too outside the box for most people, don’t get sarcasm when directed my way, and that I’m a hopeless geek. I’m DOWN with all that. Like, I’m cool with all that. I am a dork party of one and I am happy in my party hat, thankyouverymuch. </font> <p><font size="4">But with this stupid Krav Maga goal, I am angsting ALL THE TIME over the lack of progress in training and lack of weight loss and strength and stamina. The angst is ALL CONSUMING. This kind of thing DRIVES some people, but it is ruining me. WHY do I insist on continuing?! This body just will not go any harder than it’s already going, no matter how many pep talks I give myself, no matter how much I push myself with harder, more frequent workouts and longer study sessions and lean protein and kale and complex carbohydrates. </font> <p><font size="4">Sometimes we must concede. I realize that now. Failure is part of life. It sucks, but we must accept it and learn what we can. I have beat this dead horse into hamburger. It is not going to rise up and walk again. I am dropping the angst by dropping this goal. I tried valiantly, but I just don’t have any more in me for this. It is not worth the time and stress I’ve put into it. This has been a non-value added goal, and I’m done. Quitting, with a capitol Q.</font></p>Marissa Genta Pinedahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041902734181450721noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1081904921549015177.post-15742473192504768192016-02-04T23:55:00.001-08:002016-02-04T23:58:35.873-08:00Photo dump: January in Pictures<p><font size="3">I used to scrapbook—now I take pictures on my phone and forget to document anything. Here is my attempt to capture the past month:</font></p> <p><font size="3">Calvin broke his left radius and ulna back in November. One splint, two casts, and one surgery later, he got his final cast off on January 4th. He was so happy to have that itchy, smelly thing come off (and so was I!)</font></p> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-CoexnDdGsDg/VrRVH0EAS0I/AAAAAAAAIj0/Lh2_eRGVSGQ/s1600-h/20160104_133751%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img title="20160104_133751" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="20160104_133751" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-r70PpdnELgU/VrRVIe0XvDI/AAAAAAAAIj4/ZrSC-J1V-sE/20160104_133751_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="308" height="556"></a></p> <p> </p> <p><font size="3">Evelyn begins sounding out words on signs she sees. (This was at the doctor’s office, the same day Calvin got his cast off.) Evelyn is four and a half years old and I haven’t begun any official curriculum with her yet, she’s just picking things up as we go. I love this “learning to read” stage. She was so cute. Now she wants me to help her spell everything as she writes it down.</font></p> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-o0D0bsQ0j6Q/VrRVI0Zji3I/AAAAAAAAIj8/Vok5ReV5sx0/s1600-h/20160104_140302%25255B6%25255D.jpg"><img title="20160104_140302" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="20160104_140302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghU7A5DHqPl_UjQKYXEYvptzph9kiKaNjFirSdOI1Wct1DPgREONIEyInRnIHeGO0A8asahNK3RF28kFqRWU9CoWJ-3kwXZrDKeOPZcNqfeSMHsyyfRmh-EGqjrhXxfL7ZTqZnrsFaON8/?imgmax=800" width="517" height="303"></a></p> <p> </p> <p><font size="3">Watching the State of the Union Address.</font> </p> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-73z6L5mBG7g/VrRVJzYy2vI/AAAAAAAAIkE/a8-8sw0wez8/s1600-h/20160112_192655%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img title="20160112_192655" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="20160112_192655" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-v_hVRRNl500/VrRVKixXf4I/AAAAAAAAIkI/C2lEdRHt62I/20160112_192655_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="315" height="575"></a></p> <p> </p> <p><font size="3">Proof that my kitchen does get clean. Sometimes I look at these pictures just to remind myself that dreams really do come true, if only in the three or four hours between meals.</font></p> <p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifUoJS5XyE774oEJG3RRkOoVf5ck5IAGDAmvDQHQlfYOO9YogMVlgxJMpQ2YQq591bujPFf6llLiwyX1-uqFgvn9g8lEZndR31e6alcYJJl4376Fbqc_vfOyiqzp2jMevH2Zv3figquxQ/s1600-h/20160112_223452%25255B7%25255D.jpg"><img title="20160112_223452" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="20160112_223452" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Sbu7_50sfmM/VrRVLofYemI/AAAAAAAAIkQ/7t53o8iWb-0/20160112_223452_thumb%25255B4%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="593" height="353"></a></p> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-C1FZPny2dmo/VrRVMPCBnvI/AAAAAAAAIkU/JM1V6W5afjE/s1600-h/20160112_223503%25255B6%25255D.jpg"><img title="20160112_223503" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="20160112_223503" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-W_E9Ai2L5EA/VrRVMUOUcqI/AAAAAAAAIkY/tA25yV-z-BY/20160112_223503_thumb%25255B3%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="595" height="349"></a></p> <p> </p> <p><font size="3">Halfway into the month, I discovered the French Cafe station on Pandora and decided to play it every time I cook. I whip out my French accent and sing along as I concoct delicious, gourmet meals now---hahahahaha! I even decided to make a French meal—or the American, “whatever I have in the pantry” approximation: Croque Monsieur sandwich, grapes, and green beans (French cut, does that count?!)</font></p> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-sfLcRs9PSEA/VrRVMm0b3bI/AAAAAAAAIkc/TKCFj6odNKU/s1600-h/20160113_124027%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img title="20160113_124027" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="20160113_124027" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-VkpNjmhgrD0/VrRVNHaEW1I/AAAAAAAAIkg/k5upEyjZcVg/20160113_124027_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="305" height="557"></a></p> <p> </p> <p><font size="3">One weekend, I was moving stuff around in the garage. It was cold, so I came inside to grab my hat. Calvin took one look at me and asked, “Planning a heist?”</font> </p> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-f1TW_51ABdY/VrRVNvyoL0I/AAAAAAAAIkk/mre8LwZOO_o/s1600-h/20160113_152800%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img title="20160113_152800" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="20160113_152800" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-6eQ8MK0rGVA/VrRVOOaHxOI/AAAAAAAAIko/GXohVvWBKYs/20160113_152800_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="316" height="577"></a></p> <p> </p> <p><font size="3">Alan Rickman died this month. I am taking it very, very hard. Even though I never knew him personally, the characters he portrayed and the stories he told through his work, and his personal contributions to humanity and the arts impacted me deeply, and have made me a better person. He will be terribly missed.The kids and I saluted him with hot chocolate and words from a traditional Scots/Irish farewell song, The Parting Glass:</font></p> <p align="center"><em><font size="3">Of all the comrades that e'er I had<br>They're sorry for my going away<br>And all the sweethearts that e'er I had<br>They'd wish me one more day to stay</font></em></p> <p align="center"><em><font size="3">But since it fell into my lot<br>That I should rise and you should not<br>I'll gently rise and softly call<br>"Good night and joy be to you all"</font></em></p> <p align="left"><font size="3">Rest in peace, sir.</font></p> <p align="left"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-1FccVw72nHs/VrRVOn6Y40I/AAAAAAAAIks/5_ntI_gGXLE/s1600-h/20160114_095650%25255B6%25255D.jpg"><img title="20160114_095650" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="20160114_095650" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzAN9SB3fqBn9ANkSpGKhdQ7AcnkrFAYcXBw_lkcN1DYlT-hi9xLxBCnINGDYsIyRmop7rfT-fPpekuCNTP319M2uHrYxPF4jm6-ZDyNjgMsWxSOSOvcdI3yMwQenBPGevS5M5ajjIPpA/?imgmax=800" width="545" height="320"></a></p> <p align="left"> </p> <p align="left"><font size="3">We celebrated Julio’s birthday with a little party at home with just the family. Gloria made his cake. I got to set it on fire.</font></p> <p align="left"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-EpAg0kupfqA/VrRVP1n-biI/AAAAAAAAIk0/o9adsrzUEAM/s1600-h/20160115_201525%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img title="20160115_201525" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="20160115_201525" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-CSPzoKENJQU/VrRVQeT2AoI/AAAAAAAAIk4/rlj9vJMiyJY/20160115_201525_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="336" height="613"></a></p> <p align="left"> </p> <p align="left"><font size="3">We discovered a little pioneer cemetery in our town, tucked between the railway and a new housing subdivision. A total of 12 people are buried there, nine of whom were children. It is believed that everyone there died in from a diptheria epidemic. The Kuna Historical Society located 11 of the 12 graves and set up the markers. Volunteers keep the area litter free and place flags and trinkets on the graves, and maintain the fencing, the sign, and the plaque wall indicating who is buried there.</font></p> <p align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipofiILsqQXryOgHdk8mJeA2xn4uu3gDZRhqkwKeVUl2f-WDRvqM0C3Lye8rzl-WU03kv4frja7Hd2Z3AZ-N6JJIX7HgVtf6CB7smv9kahE0GZ10Hbfxrv88AtUl9_DQfQvVHxxbtul94/s1600-h/20160125_154837%25255B6%25255D.jpg"><img title="20160125_154837" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="20160125_154837" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-J9CXOW-C2h4/VrRVRfBzeLI/AAAAAAAAIlA/Lu3EvkCg9iM/20160125_154837_thumb%25255B3%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="571" height="335"></a></p> <p align="left"><font size="3">One of the people buried there is known only as an “Immigrant Woman.” I wondered where she was from and what her name was. I wondered if she spoke English and how long she had lived in Kuna before she died. I guess we’ll never know.</font></p> <p align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBqxrKw_1n14SawO-43kpWOtk8Hvo71KD1yEJ0WpSxRWICG1f-dTQVOt7_LU26QOPoBk7z_5t9igdQG06AyjwY9kLpdrJrWjHC76p40d_SuS7rmMog5q1onLPGMX20tvJBRHT29aIbbzQ/s1600-h/20160125_155232%25255B6%25255D.jpg"><img title="20160125_155232" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="20160125_155232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzboW7xYEqKKDIJ0QAuBJnon9xfmfF2ztRQ6MvHK3-WWP9DB-tvK8cu0_PW618_2EnEtAxD8j0yKExWzjzjxRsY9jTfoBPazgVDap779OY7M3hyphenhyphenaFNs_Yxuc-XktvuAVxECe2C3r05zFQ/?imgmax=800" width="592" height="347"></a></p> <p align="left"><font size="3">I snapped this picture of the rainclouds at twilight outside my house---I loved the velvety blue gray of the skies and the drizzle and the smell of rain—it was so beautiful, and kind of mysterious looking!</font></p> <p align="left"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-lo-qovHGMKA/VrRVSsdfE0I/AAAAAAAAIlM/LaYzEA292_c/s1600-h/20160123_182005%25255B6%25255D.jpg"><img title="20160123_182005" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="20160123_182005" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-FRc17l63Nck/VrRVSwuEygI/AAAAAAAAIlQ/YghgCMC9oi4/20160123_182005_thumb%25255B3%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="601" height="352"></a></p> <p align="left"> </p> <p align="left"><font size="3">Our town is not very big, and apparently our only claim to fame is being the “Gateway” to various natural attractions—which are kind of lame in my opinion—the pioneer cemetery, the Kuna Cave, The Birds of Prey Conservation Area (okay, that is pretty cool, but not really exciting to look at), and a few other little things. Nevertheless, I took the kids on a field trip to explore our little town. Other than the cemetery and our maybe half a mile of greenbelt along an irrigation canal, there wasn’t much to see, but the kids were undaunted. The kids read the ‘Historical” plaques at the tiny Kuna City Visitor’s Center, and magically discovered the history in everything they found.</font><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-NlSg5i0z8vw/VrRVTT4s87I/AAAAAAAAIlU/gBIySSAUX-A/s1600-h/20160125_155938%25255B6%25255D.jpg"><img title="20160125_155938" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="20160125_155938" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-V8btp0c9dF8/VrRVTkcbb4I/AAAAAAAAIlY/CGpdEgkZkOQ/20160125_155938_thumb%25255B3%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="591" height="346"></a></p> <p align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5I6OLEIIPx9G4sggQKF6alknGMtuK7mgGv6INDh0vWttGcDPA1y4dmnc-6Kb3cl-DACBhlq3zTSuxR9oS0-0YDBEQTs3BOIT4sqc072BDMzoPmMpC_slJdN3SbtsVLBuhwvk_ZK0Xbhc/s1600-h/20160125_160047%25255B6%25255D.jpg"><img title="20160125_160047" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="20160125_160047" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5sVcOK0ZTJ9dPoD_hJbUfg35hLegGyhERQw1H7S9NFmCwsH3mPbzYjExgDnVKQF0nl3vO_ge1V2l5jPatHrhboFL4p60QW6gMOnv1AQl4_5YmN1AEiVHrZkHUBvEQn22wasESLaxryaY/?imgmax=800" width="597" height="350"></a></p> <p align="left"><font size="3">“Ooh, look! A historic, abandoned Nerf dart!”</font></p> <p align="left"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-bvGoex-OOhI/VrRVUwa9QbI/AAAAAAAAIlk/_IKQmKs_59s/s1600-h/20160125_155957%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img title="20160125_155957" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="20160125_155957" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ublRDVdvUSM/VrRVVfJlNLI/AAAAAAAAIlo/jU9xDLWL_qA/20160125_155957_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="304" height="554"></a></p> <p align="left"><font size="3">“There’s a historic restroom!”</font></p> <p align="left"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-OUH2zNpPwCk/VrRVVsc-NkI/AAAAAAAAIls/nu3YhxSWi1Y/s1600-h/20160125_160243%25255B6%25255D.jpg"><img title="20160125_160243" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="20160125_160243" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-KB9Eqf1tc0Y/VrRVWOHHXGI/AAAAAAAAIlw/ckJQXqpPLWw/20160125_160243_thumb%25255B3%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="559" height="328"></a></p> <p align="left"><font size="3">“A historic volleyball court!”</font></p> <p align="left"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-xYVsCnlIc4g/VrRVWmc1jaI/AAAAAAAAIl0/zkyAfPRZ_Vc/s1600-h/20160125_160232%25255B6%25255D.jpg"><img title="20160125_160232" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="20160125_160232" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-10MElZc2oEY/VrRVXH-7NZI/AAAAAAAAIl4/WxoE4Y_t06s/20160125_160232_thumb%25255B3%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="552" height="324"></a></p> <p align="left"><font size="3">And finally, the highlight of the trip, a trip to the “historic” fast food joint, Arctic Circle, for ice cream.</font></p> <p align="left"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-C4xAIp4Al94/VrRVXfmFNqI/AAAAAAAAIl8/InCtSJL6oLA/s1600-h/20160125_160934%25255B6%25255D.jpg"><img title="20160125_160934" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="20160125_160934" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-f15vDrBBfmI/VrRVYGepUSI/AAAAAAAAImA/ISvsw2UX79w/20160125_160934_thumb%25255B3%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="574" height="336"></a></p> <p align="left"><font size="3">What a month!</font></p>Marissa Genta Pinedahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041902734181450721noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1081904921549015177.post-44618610180118618912016-01-31T18:16:00.001-08:002016-01-31T18:17:04.990-08:00Legacy<p>Today’s prompt:</p> <h3>Legacy</h3> <p><font size="4">What do you want to be known for? Maybe you want to change the world. Maybe you just want to make the best cupcakes known to man. Go all in and give us the deep life-long goal, or share a smaller mission. </font> <p><font size="4">I suppose I will sound absolutely shallow for saying this, but I don’t really want to be known for anything more than loving my family, making people laugh, and encouraging others to be open to new ideas, experiences, and insights. I’m not on a crusade to save the world, just to make it laugh.</font> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-T2hBwJRwp1Y/Vq6_rcalI6I/AAAAAAAAIhg/7FtgHy_mZdc/s1600-h/Dam%252520store%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="Dam store" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="Dam store" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz0nm-TyUeNlzgyk2RNIIu_hhBjesuQYBg13rnTEL9s1h4bWoP3T4tJ7CKgCP0O2RQ3EvwAZkgjLQpdKJzOT8PC5tC4DihMDKVNwF5_nvML0fkTOts4nJO9V9_CFN7f7ixBW0h1XQbFiE/?imgmax=800" width="453" height="333"></a> <p> <p><font size="4">This prompt got me thinking about funerals, which is maybe macabre for someone so, ahem, young, as I. But, I’ve decided that when I die, I don’t want a chapel funeral, with a life sketch and eulogy. I want folks to throw a party, remember the good times, and that I never took anything very seriously. No melancholy strains of Nearer My God to Thee or lilting Each Life That Touches Ours for Good, no dark colors and somber faces—no, no---I want a mariachi band, or a big New Orleans style brass band, playing the good, danceable stuff. </font> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-nSXpp5dFg0s/Vq6_tr5GdZI/AAAAAAAAIhs/-rtnNAC8_g8/s1600-h/Metalachi%2525202%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="Metalachi 2" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="Metalachi 2" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ABMS-CnER5o/Vq6_vcLO6PI/AAAAAAAAIh0/ssGoTSY9nYM/Metalachi%2525202_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="502" height="544"></a> <p><font size="2">Ooh, or maybe we could get these guys:The world’s first and only Heavy Metal Mariachi band—based out of Los Angeles, California!</font> <p><font size="4">I hope folks wear bright colors and comfy shoes. I hope they serve pizza and nachos and have a belching contest. I want someone to set up a karaoke machine so everyone can sing really bad renditions of Broadway showtunes and Elvis impersonations . I hope the beat is strong, the music loud, and someone decides to bust out their best samba. </font> <p><font size="4"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWE3XPMm7zPPDCdi_XgYaX11LW0hvpyyIdd4MFeFM4LGuc2Tw6WuCK9oCzIb-zeqY8qJCE4e1C058UhiO7TW-oUlbc1g6LlGy3C1aRQVdWPSppXvA8T6zDDWWttDiIzzaayU43cc5WcY4/s1600-h/Cuban%252520Pete%25255B3%25255D.gif"><img title="Cuban Pete" style="display: inline" alt="Cuban Pete" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-xr4WFt-iyP0/Vq6_y6bAT6I/AAAAAAAAIiI/q5il3gOpM2Q/Cuban%252520Pete_thumb%25255B1%25255D.gif?imgmax=800" width="487" height="282"></a></font> <p><font size="4">If there MUST be something said of me, I hope it’s done in Dr. Seuss type rhyme, or a clever parody of Poe’s The Raven. If there’s a viewing, I hope someone lovingly places a pirate hat on my head or a red foam clown nose on my face before the casket is closed for good. Cover my casket in striped ribbons in clashing colors, and plastic flamingos. And as they’re hauling me out to the hearse, I hope the Muppets’ song Mahna Mahna is playing as I’m carried out. Or maybe Jump In The Line by Harry Belafonte. </font> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-qcGlmqpq2vw/Vq6_zXh-b9I/AAAAAAAAIiM/ebrBdr8rBbk/s1600-h/flaminos%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="flaminos" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="flaminos" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-qcg6iYD2zp4/Vq6_zsW-KgI/AAAAAAAAIiQ/YRxujAnk7Gg/flaminos_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="120" height="202"></a> <a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-S54qYnPEfhs/Vq6_0e3VH9I/AAAAAAAAIig/02KEYYtN0xM/s1600-h/flaminos%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img title="flaminos" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="flaminos" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-msOnXD_kNTQ/Vq6_0-8qA0I/AAAAAAAAIik/7VDnSP3caJM/flaminos_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="120" height="202"></a> <a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-jDi9EdUP144/Vq6_1QlfbwI/AAAAAAAAIis/gQX8lUz_440/s1600-h/flaminos%25255B8%25255D.jpg"><img title="flaminos" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="flaminos" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-3wIY413UMRU/Vq6_1wSEuQI/AAAAAAAAIi0/aWfgLuFb1rg/flaminos_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="120" height="202"></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRs1R9x40yFOrPxN1LY2tizp2ZG1CdTMewKoKLTCReJEJUagYP8c2-3xpXjaB7_sCyYbXaOO7FgSV3vnk4B9YligtiiGnGucgLJme-GRlBO2UiZT4mWLSIiH3DXZ_AjwcmfHyP0M5Ab9Q/s1600-h/flaminos%25255B11%25255D.jpg"><img title="flaminos" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="flaminos" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-01JrrYxt52s/Vq6_2_Atm-I/AAAAAAAAIjE/ScXjNIUHZig/flaminos_thumb%25255B3%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="120" height="202"></a> <p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIIDDii_N_unE349ajdewIbEWSxzLZxtVPa-FUGMt3SslhG2CZ9MTS-cTFRJE6RZhW9XlPXScd5dtB78VkI3x0w21du6eFZ8blCz-YxtEAZ2A9GstdEBagZqueodKtCTQpOlJrmRXCx6g/s1600-h/crepe%252520paper%25255B8%25255D.jpg"><img title="crepe paper" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="crepe paper" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCJV9oLiFF7reeS9RsdBOZNH7y73zxrVZX6tXisjnsxaSuUnQsq0XdF2koZ-2C41a9noLsXEzypnXIiPshQ7qTxI1MMDLw8YUyYbQtzTO3OMsJOHPWqFHU92lyoOnHRD7A2hZfXCz3xRA/?imgmax=800" width="476" height="661"></a> <p><font size="4">Actually, maybe I better stick with the standard solemn affair—I’d hate to miss such a party!</font> <p><font size="3">This post is part of <a href="http://thinkkit.org">Think Kit</a> by <a href="http://smallbox.com">SmallBox</a>.</font> <p><font size="4"></font>Marissa Genta Pinedahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041902734181450721noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1081904921549015177.post-73817324379572111132016-01-29T11:39:00.001-08:002016-01-29T11:39:18.130-08:00On writing<p>Today’s prompt:</p> <h3>Write On</h3> <p>Why do you write? What have you learned by facing the page? Did anything surprise you about your reflections this past month? <p>This Think Kit blog challenge has been exactly that—a challenge! I have loved doing it, even if I haven’t managed to post every single day---I wanted a kickstart to regular blogging and I definitely got that! <p>Why do I write? I write because I think better on paper…er, the computer. Writing helps me sort out what’s in my head. I also write because I like to tell stories and entertain people. I like to build bridges and help others make connections between events, people, and other things that they may not have considered before. <p>The Think Kit prompts are decidedly personal and I’ve struggled with a few of them, not for lack of anything to say, but in how to say it. I’ve worried a few times if I sound crazy or flippant or both. Some of the prompts have touched on subjects I don’t really want to think about, because they are boring or uncomfortable, or I just thought they were too silly or mundane to bother with. <p>That said, the Think Kit blog post challenge has been a lot of fun. I realized that with a little discipline, I can crank out some half decent posts. With more discipline, maybe I’ll manage some truly fine ones. The blog challenge has gotten the creative juices flowing and shown me that in order to write what and how I want, I need to make writing a priority and treat it like a job. Now I just need to set my hours and my deadlines!</p>Marissa Genta Pinedahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041902734181450721noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1081904921549015177.post-55368128986926232242016-01-27T19:31:00.001-08:002016-01-27T19:31:37.628-08:00Catchphrase<h3><font color="#000000"><font style="font-weight: normal">Today’s prompt: </font></font></h3> <p><font size="4"><strong>Make-a-mantra</strong> </font> <p><font size="4">Write a mantra for the year ahead - how you'll approach it, what you wish it to be. How'd you arrive at the mantra </font> <p><font size="4">Last November, I attended a talk by a motivational speaker. He was a bit too earnest and “rah-rah” for my taste, but he suggested we choose a word that would be our mantra—our guide for the coming new year. He had us write down seven or eight words that came to mind about how we wanted to be in the new year and then had us narrow it down to one…and then we were asked to share what we’d chosen. I found the activity kind of exciting, but also kind of hokey, and sat mutely off to one side while others volunteered their words, such as: </font> <p><font size="4">Presence! </font> <p><font size="4">Intention! </font> <p><font size="4">Mindfulness! </font> <p><font size="4">Creativity! </font> <p><font size="4">Determination! </font> <p><font size="4">And I’m in the corner thinking: </font> <p><font size="4">Nitwit! </font> <p><font size="4">Blubber! </font> <p><font size="4">Oddment! </font> <p><font size="4">Tweak!<font color="#ff0000">*</font></font> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-R4uNOgNJ2nU/VqmLkkST3_I/AAAAAAAAIhA/BLbfQJt6aW4/s1600-h/Dumblin3.gif"><img title="Dumblin" style="display: inline" alt="Dumblin" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-mtLbTuJRChY/VqmLlhuUPcI/AAAAAAAAIhI/OnpJl99RwQc/Dumblin_thumb1.gif?imgmax=800" width="495" height="295"></a> <p><font color="#ff0000">*</font><font color="#000000">If you are baffled by the words I was thinking, get thee to the library, check out, and read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, post haste!</font> <p> <font size="4">I’m sure I wrote down seven or eight real motivational words, but I don’t remember what they are. </font> <p><font size="4">I don’t know if mantras will ever really be my thing, but there are a few “catchphrases” that I find myself using quite a lot: </font> <p><font size="4">When something is lost (and I don’t need it right this second): “It’ll turn up.” </font> <p><font size="4">In triumph:‘”Wuh-BAYUM!”</font> <p><font size="4">When something unexpectedly goes my way: “Well, hot dayum and hallelujah!” </font> <p><font size="4">When directing the children in their chores: “Put the thing in the thing, next to that other thing! Come, on, you know what I mean!” </font> <p><font size="4">At bedtime: “Don’t come down here unless you’re bleeding or on fire!” </font> <p><font size="4">In response to the question ‘What’s for dinner?’: “I dunno. I haven’t thought that far.” </font> <p><font size="4">When the kids ask me what we’re going to do for the day: “The same thing we do every other day—try to take over the world.” </font> <p><font size="4">My oldest kids just showed up and read this post over my shoulder. I hate that. But, they are nodding and now mimicking my triumph yell. Get your own war-cry, kids, I’m trademarking mine!</font></p>Marissa Genta Pinedahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041902734181450721noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1081904921549015177.post-78150570275675158092016-01-24T16:48:00.001-08:002016-01-24T16:49:17.619-08:00On navigating culture clash<p>Today’s prompt:</p> <h3><a href="http://smallboxweb.us8.list-manage1.com/track/click?u=71b6c554905889148bcb66cff&id=dd70174f86&e=e6b3eb194b"><font color="#000000">I</font></a><font color="#000000">t's Customary</font></h3> <p><font size="4">It's a small world after all! What custom from another culture do you wish you could transplant into your own? Maybe you want siestas (Hola, Spain!) or </font><a href="http://smallboxweb.us8.list-manage.com/track/click?u=71b6c554905889148bcb66cff&id=e3fa332b70&e=e6b3eb194b"><font size="4">Hygge</font></a><font size="4"> from Denmark. Or maybe you want to create a new custom altogether?</font> <p><font size="4">By the time I met my husband, Julio, who was born and raised in Guatemala, he was pretty “Americanized.” He had spent a year in high school as an exchange student in Utah, and then later served a two year mission for the Mormon Church in San Bernardino, California. He spoke English (with only the tiniest trace of an accent) and was comfortable navigating US culture and maneuvering through our various systems (school, government, etc.) In fact, when I first met him, I assumed he was from New York or something—somewhere distant from me (born and raised in the western States) but not foreign.</font> <p><font size="4">Still, he carried vestiges of his home culture, which took me some getting used to. First, was the fact that he greeted EVERY female friend he met with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, calling them “mi amor” (my love.) I was scandalized by this behavior. I was raised to believe that any kind of kissing was reserved for romantic partners, and that terms of endearment were for sweethearts. (It didn’t help that “mi amor” just sounded so sexy rolling off his lips, no matter to whom he said it. I was a jealous young thing, what can I say?) </font> <p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiwh5kA6dJxOx5vZgKIduIkgdxCF1xEcJqWg3LQa2eQgaaql8U3wK2ObIoC82nbI2q7-2Ek7Iuw9JP2m60QzYitEVGXcTTsKFOXfH2ZhUQElG9I_X6dxbATy0qKCPye9DhDmyBRcWCM6w/s1600-h/julio%252520and%252520cousins%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="julio and cousins" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="julio and cousins" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-reNdGYu8iUI/VqVwuuegIzI/AAAAAAAAIgA/aiGOuyPZbsE/julio%252520and%252520cousins_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="478" height="324"></a> <p><font size="2">Julio and his stunningly beautiful aunt and cousins.</font> <p><font size="4">I didn’t know anyone else who kissed friends, female coworkers, older women, and young girls to say hello, even though I had friends from various cultural backgrounds and countries. (Turns out, lots of my friends did this, amongst their own people and folks from cultures that shared similar greeting customs, but they remained hands-and-lips-off the Americans.) It took me a long time to understand that a hug and a kiss in greeting didn’t imply romantic or sexual interest, and that calling someone “my love” in Spanish is the equivalent of the English “honey” or “hon,” (as in “What can I get you, hon?”) </font><font size="4">Now, however, greeting-hugs and kisses and endearments are among my favorite customs in Guatemalan culture. </font> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-l4ueP8xahMQ/VqVwvVPZMFI/AAAAAAAAIgE/GpWNOWuF2kk/s1600-h/julio%252520and%252520rocio%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="julio and rocio" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="julio and rocio" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-3M1KjIMCv48/VqVwv7rzv-I/AAAAAAAAIgM/R9C0DtQcI7o/julio%252520and%252520rocio_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="355" height="406"></a> <p><font size="2">Julio (center) leading his niece to her grandfather, at her Quinceanera.</font> <p><font size="4">Another thing that I struggled with was the circuitous communication style my husband displayed. Guatemalans are not a direct people. They will never plainly ask for anything, but hint and drop clues, expecting you to read between the lines and respond accordingly. I am really, really bad at this kind of communication. My husband tells me that early in our relationship, he would “test” me on certain things by placing, what seemed to me, random things and offhand comments for me to decipher. I didn’t know this, having no cultural context for this kind of communication---and I often found him baffling.</font> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-0XQFenkU21E/VqVwwWtQESI/AAAAAAAAIgU/-u8hvLi5slg/s1600-h/engagement%25255B6%25255D.jpg"><img title="engagement" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="engagement" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgotR-KWW71Rf8rLYIexiUVOQOzeyk-KiuX0BSdBhPLBgpnFdeY0wcreKZj_nhG076_1xCwSv9qZ_OIez6i1wvvZf9h97ra49KvFiUjh-unCQe725PU6AjMz7BFhRGzopyDJS0Ausm1ke4/?imgmax=800" width="400" height="422"></a></p> <p><font size="2">Our engagement photo. We were just babies!</font> </p> <p><font size="4">After one particularly exasperating evening with him, he expressed his disappointment that I hadn’t responded how he was hoping and then he pointed out all the times he had left clues and dropped hints hoping I would “get” the message he was trying to send. He admitted he had been testing me and was disappointed that I wasn’t getting it. I don’t remember what the issue was, but my ineptitude was so much that he finally had to spell things out for me, one bald-faced letter at a time. It must have been excruciating for him to be so direct, but I was just upset that he was pussy-footing around the issue. I probably yelled something about being a jerk and playing mind games, not realizing that making things plain was not part of his cultural skill set.</font> <p><font size="4">This experience led to an uncomfortable, if ultimately enlightening, discussion about our needs and wants and hopes, and also our communication styles. Over the years, we’ve realized that his indirect approach to communication, and my “line drive down the center” approach are part culture, part personality, and that before we get all bent out of shape, it behooves us both to check ourselves against each other’s communication styles, and adjust accordingly!</font> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-3xnC2G7U0Ts/VqVwx0ievuI/AAAAAAAAIgk/IzrdQ8dTeYQ/s1600-h/us%252520now%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="us now" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="us now" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy2gypSarfh_dWprMb-pEdKUHzHY7qVpBCtntlaTB5ZL8ixgQv-67iTjyZXu2W9YYrrysqSCloZjOHril_Foinzhpl-CUetBttokEu6zNwda6AdVTlVEZVQJd1Q15R8-xjVwL9JiGRg3g/?imgmax=800" width="477" height="376"></a> <p>This is us now. How did we get this old? <p><font size="4">Certainly any couple will have to deal with each others’ idosyncracies, but those are compounded when coming from different cultures. Fortunately, my husband is patient, I have learned that there is more to navigating the world than ploughing straight through, and we are both inclined to find humor in just about everything, so we’ve managed to bumble triumphantly through the inevitable culture clashes.</font> <p>This post is part of <a href="http://thinkkit.org">Think Kit</a> by <a href="http://smallbox.com">SmallBox</a>. Marissa Genta Pinedahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041902734181450721noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1081904921549015177.post-80755990446630796942016-01-23T22:41:00.001-08:002016-01-23T22:41:47.629-08:00Wonder and mystery<p>Today’s prompt:</p> <h3><a href="http://smallboxweb.us8.list-manage1.com/track/click?u=71b6c554905889148bcb66cff&id=d2112979f9&e=e6b3eb194b">Media Frenzy</a></h3> <p><font size="4">Nervous at Airports? Created your first protest sign? Taken on a different perspective? How has what you've seen in the news changed you this year?</font> <p><font size="4">I am at a bit of a loss for this prompt, but it got me thinking about my media usage. Facebook and Pinterest get a lot of flak for being worthless time sucks, but they have both expanded my world. Through Facebook and Pinterest, I have found artists, writers, bloggers, lesson plans, social and political activists, new music, project ideas, and new perspectives. </font> <p><font size="4">I have come to think of the internet as an incredible tool to daily expand my horizons, and show my children the world in ways that we wouldn’t have access to otherwise. Sure, we do a lot of traveling and we read a lot (a LOT) of books, but the internet has given us instant access to an unbelievable amount of knowledge, ideas, and perspectives. It is amazing! </font> <p><font size="4"></font> <p><font size="4">“The possession of knowledge does not kill the sense of wonder and mystery. There is always more mystery.” –Anais Nin</font></p>Marissa Genta Pinedahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041902734181450721noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1081904921549015177.post-74819879107276158342016-01-22T03:02:00.001-08:002016-01-22T03:05:05.056-08:00Where ya goin’?<p><font size="4">Today’s prompt:</font></p> <h3><a href="http://smallboxweb.us8.list-manage1.com/track/click?u=71b6c554905889148bcb66cff&id=03fdb4eb06&e=e6b3eb194b">It's All About the Journey</a></h3> <p><font size="4">Where did you travel this year? Did it move or change you?</font> <p><font size="4">I’ve traveled a few places in the last year, but when I saw this prompt, my first thought wasn’t of the visits to Utah for weddings, or Eastern Idaho for funerals, or even California and Oregon for vacations. I thought more about my journey as a person.</font> <p><font size="4">Maybe it’s because I’m getting older, but I’m noticing that I really don’t care about a lot of the stuff that used to keep me up at nights:</font> <ul> <li><font size="4">Having the perfect house</font></li> <li><font size="4">Having perfect children who conform to cultural and social expectations</font></li> <li><font size="4">Having the perfect body</font></li> <li><font size="4">being the perfect wife/mother/friend/daughter/sibling</font></li></ul> <p><font size="4">Some might say I’ve “given up” or “let myself go” or am even “irresponsible” regarding these things, but the truth is---I have come to accept my limitations and lack of interest in much of what it entails to strive for all this perfection. I’ve become a whole lot more accepting and open to what IS and and I’m much more forgiving of myself for my failures. This acceptance has freed me to explore and do life on my own terms, with some pretty impressive (to me) results. I have figured out my talents and genunine interests, my aesthetic (anything that makes me laugh), my priorities, and my purpose. It’s not that I have EVERYTHING figured out, but I know who I am and I know where I’m headed.</font></p> <p><font size="4">I have a twenty-something friend on Facebook whose posts are rife with all the insecurities and anxieties particular to someone who is still trying to figure out who she is and what her place and role in the world is. Part of me wants to reach out and put my arms around her and lovingly tell her to get over herself. A lot of the the things she’s frettting over won’t matter in ten or fifteen years and she’ll have wasted a lot of time agonizing over them, rather than truly experiencing life and doing good. At her age and a decade on, I was just like her…so I speak from experience. Of course, I don’t reach out and tell lher to let go of the crazy, because I’m sure, that had someone done that to me, I wouldn’t have listened. I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t listen, either. Unfortunately, it seems that stewing in self loathing and insecurity over all the perceived imperfections in life is just part of growing up.</font></p> <p><font size="4">In the meantime, my favorite quote and mantra has become this saccharine-free quote from comedienne Sarah Silverman:</font></p> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-aGPi_R4DgsM/VqIMX0N5rVI/AAAAAAAAIfU/4xSXpsWdOZo/s1600-h/MoTe%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="MoTe" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="MoTe" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-hyUrK1X1_LM/VqIMYTAhXeI/AAAAAAAAIfY/cwhaiezQRCM/MoTe_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="434" height="439"></a></p> <p><font size="4">Now, I would never presume to compare myself and my work to the awesomeness that was Mother Teresa, but I love the sentiment. The woman had work to do---there was no time to worry over keeping up appearances when there were real needs to deal with and real people to love.</font></p> <p><font size="4">Now, I like to look nice, and I like my things to look nice. I like my kids to behave and I like to think that I’m doing a good job with all of that, but I’ve long since given up trying to look nice, be nice, have nice for the sake of the approval and acceptance of others. A lot of what I do now, in fact, DOESN’T look nice, because frankly, creation is messy. Work is messy. Forgiveness is messy. Repentence is messy. Life is messy. But it’s all beautiful and worthwhile if you learn from it and do good with it.</font></p>Marissa Genta Pinedahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041902734181450721noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1081904921549015177.post-35067921522696601602016-01-21T18:14:00.001-08:002016-01-21T18:14:15.724-08:00Standing in line<p><font size="4">Today’s prompt:</font></p> <h3><a href="http://smallboxweb.us8.list-manage2.com/track/click?u=71b6c554905889148bcb66cff&id=63664e73ed&e=e6b3eb194b">Tickets,Tickets!</a></h3> <p><font size="4">What (or who) did you shell out or stand-in-line for this year? Was it worth it? What made you wait in line, log-on early, or form a lifetime attachment?</font> <p><font size="4">Here’s the thing. We don’t stand in lines. We make it a habit to circumvent the queue system if we can. One of the few times we couldn’t was when we stood in line to see President Barack Obama at our local university. The event was free, but for crowd control, the venue issued tickets, and we stood in line for a couple of hours to get ours. We live in a decidedly red state, so I was surprised to see that the line for tickets was as long as it was. I was also surprised to hear people of many different political persuasions talking and joking amicably with each other in line. So used to the political vitriol on the interwebs, I fully expected people to be as nasty in person as they were online. I was delighted to be wrong.</font> <p><font size="4">Although many of our friends thought we were wasting our time and wondered why on earth we would stand in line for tickets to hear that @#*$% Obama speak, we were looking forward to hearing the President and being part of what was a historic event for our town. My son, Calvin, even got interviewed by the local news just prior to the speech.</font> <p> <p>Here we are, killing time in line at the university, waiting for tickets to President Obama’s speech. <p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmTGDkpCjs9dMssuSm0DfTArF79vy4CQfK6FTLxL_cYh26Z33p_UlkXJljDtC70HOsIJthfK2JToq2G3fKbbq0IWKGNYo_yAvhGQlwUsUWE1XnhPYtRkoRhVy0m0qVX-Rm1dLvLO48AQs/s1600-h/20150119_154306%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="20150119_154306" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="20150119_154306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKQ9vqjh8ut6QBV64mWZcbihoaYpvod2KoqvFHSmkluvXXsKutdrUoZFmf5GJ9jp4hF81vO43yY4VPabHo3JNAYfhfLrajU1aUdmMB8LR7Ae_UmpCRX482WGnjYNdaxxG4XyseMoLZt34/?imgmax=800" width="499" height="293"></a> <p> <p>Calvin being interviewed. <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-kuPc-p-lD5c/VqGQc8g0XEI/AAAAAAAAIe8/SIvLOjSPI84/s1600-h/calvin%252520on%252520tv%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="calvin on tv" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="calvin on tv" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA67asXz-IufUi857fNYywKOSlP_1zozajd60qvg1lvR35kHA1DW0XjRQzKqIGv-ndlQOiEGw24dCvK7eS9xYAGiCIITlNWhEFwESUZE6r-ornnYJpBjiAjkSHOK5aNc2pJsgzL-yjgts/?imgmax=800" width="387" height="434"></a>Marissa Genta Pinedahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041902734181450721noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1081904921549015177.post-55376608153098928192016-01-20T00:56:00.001-08:002016-01-20T00:57:13.063-08:00The Magic of Moxie<p>Today’s prompt:</p> <h3><a href="http://smallboxweb.us8.list-manage1.com/track/click?u=71b6c554905889148bcb66cff&id=bef6e70ea3&e=e6b3eb194b">Read Up</a></h3> <p><font size="4">Let's explore the power of words. Did a writer delight you, make you think, or impact you in some other way? Write a review, or share a favorite line from something you've read.</font> <p><font size="4"> </font> <h4><font size="4">" 'The thing about growing up with Fred and George,' said Ginny thoughtfully, 'is that you sort of start thinking anything's possible if you've got enough nerve.' "</font></h4> <p><font size="4">—Ginny Weasley in <i>Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince</i></font> <p><a href="http://www.bustle.com/articles/87780-21-harry-potter-quotes-thatll-help-you-survive-your-day/image/414958"> <p></a><font size="4">My kids and I have been (re)reading together the Harry Potter series by JK Rowling, and though there are many inpsiring and thought provoking quotes throughout the books, this comment from Ginny Weasley really sparked with us.</font> <p><font size="4">Ginny is talking about her brothers’ ability to make things happen in their favor because they are unafraid to give it a go, and with gusto! Fred and George are always thinking outside the box and willing to take risks. They are tenacious, optimistic, and never let obstacles or failure railroad their ambitions. </font> <p><font size="4">I used to tell my kids that they could be anything they wanted to be—but then I realized that is not true. Wanting something is not the same as getting it or becoming it. You have to do more than want to be something, you have to work for it. And all the better if you work for it with the moxie of Fred and George!</font> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-1cCZYcZZtKc/Vp9LpysQsuI/AAAAAAAAIeE/AZ0NNGKNjmk/s1600-h/fg2%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="fg2" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="fg2" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPWd-SQBFdUQOkPWD7JZfnSM1kLqzThr9rZ6QoPFyFT6aePc74DIf8-QEt7mL2OyvSIcyRiR9Y0d4olPvejD_XBuy3rmkW0ZDQVxz2fxlvo54TDzb-sPyYpzxRWk3Ww1abnYU47X7hmOs/?imgmax=800" width="416" height="340"></a> <p>This posit is part of <a href="http://thinkkit.org">Think Kit</a> by <a href="http://smallbox.com">SmallBox</a>. Marissa Genta Pinedahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041902734181450721noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1081904921549015177.post-46880034939522518982016-01-18T06:58:00.003-08:002016-01-18T07:01:24.643-08:00Beating Homeschool Burnout<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Today’s prompt: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On the Fringes</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Think of things that have piqued your curiosity. What leaves you with more
questions than answers? Who or what do you wish you knew more about?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Every winter, post-Christmas, we hit a slump in our homeschooling. We’re
cranky, unmotivated, and experiencing some cabin fever. We used to spend a month
or two floundering around, trying to keep to our routine, but it was always
miserable and I’d fantasize about sending the kids away on the big yellow
bus.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Now, however, when I start to notice symptoms of homeschool burnout, the kids
and I make a list of new things we’d like to do or learn about. I write
down everything the kids tell me, no matter how strange or mundane I might find
it, and then we hit the library to see what information we can find. I also take
a look at the several community event calendars are available in our area, to
see what activities might coincide with our new interests, and I plan field
trips.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Typically, our list is so long that we can’t get to everything, or we need to
put some items off because they are seasonal or already planned for later in the
year, but making our list and acting on it—checking things off as we go,
reignites the homeschool spark. It’s good to change up the routine!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This year, I made two lists, one for the kids and one for me. I don’t have a
lot of personal time to devote to my own interests (what adult does?) but I like
to chip away at it when I can. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Here are just some of the things from both of this season’s lists:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Kids:</span><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">how chocolate is made</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">archery</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">wildlife</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">cooking (especially desserts!)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">how to crochet a bear</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">botany</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">chemistry</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">how to run a business</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">animation</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">how to make a video game</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">drawing techniques</span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Me:</span><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The Middle East conflict</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Israeli/Palestinian conflict and how the Parents’ Circle is bridging the
divide and working for peace</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">social work, particularly regarding children and families</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">container gardening/urban homesteading</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">traditional animation</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">filmmaking</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">koi ponds</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Bonsai</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">learn to sight read music for the piano</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">the cultural anthropology of England (I just bought a book about this and it
looks fascinating!)</span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The full lists are pretty ambitious, but each time I look them over, I marvel
at how much there is to learn about the world and the people in it, and the
universe we inhabit! It’s impossible to stay in the dumps when there is so much
to see and do and learn!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This post is part of <a href="http://thinkkit.org/" target="_blank">Think Kit</a> by <a href="http://www.smallbox.com/" target="_blank">SmallBox</a>.</span>Marissa Genta Pinedahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041902734181450721noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1081904921549015177.post-34436978822718303212016-01-17T17:26:00.001-08:002016-01-17T17:26:20.336-08:00Work Culture<p>Today’s prompt:</p> <h3><a href="http://smallboxweb.us8.list-manage.com/track/click?u=71b6c554905889148bcb66cff&id=8fa9563c73&e=e6b3eb194b">Work Culture</a></h3> <p><font size="4">Work culture is all the rage. What values do you bring to work? Is there any one cultural trait you want to import into your workplace? Create a punch list of small things you can do to nudge culture forward. Or, explore companies who seem to be doing it right. </font> <p><font size="4">I’m a homeschool teacher, so I work from home. I am also a volunteer secretary for a non-profit community choir that serves our area’s youth. Most of my work there, I do over the phone and the computer, so---I don’t have a “work culture” per se. Instead, I offer a list of attributes that guide us in our homeschool:</font> <ul> <li><font size="4">Flexibility: This is a must have. It is impossible to schedule everything in our lives, because it’s LIFE, and we have to work school in with the running of the household.</font></li></ul> <p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM9B-BwYeADA_1F7F-35x-w84P2YcIO17abB8E551hvzkFCAhB0UC_yQ5gYAHXrIKpMa_nqhvL_XRqMm-I0HFwVheO5BKGhz-3PGccZmIiTnJY6zXpdG6V6iLkB8zTJNjVy5VD_uIwcIE/s1600-h/overwhelmed%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="overwhelmed" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="overwhelmed" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-HeC0nOClN5s/Vpw_H3SM_ZI/AAAAAAAAIcg/1VMbVsuOH_o/overwhelmed_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="524" height="403"></a></p> <ul> <li><font size="4">Humor: Life is so much more interesting when it’s funny. And humor is a great way to blow off steam or to ease tension and frustration with the schoolwork or with each other. We are always cracking jokes. Silliness is our love language.</font></li></ul> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-NibZzn2ZkO4/Vpw_IfzByII/AAAAAAAAIco/lT0D5n54g-Q/s1600-h/clowns%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="clowns" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="clowns" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ajtX3EAP170/Vpw_I-lD7hI/AAAAAAAAIcw/mIGParqCDRI/clowns_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="542" height="419"></a></p> <ul> <li><font size="4">Dignity: Though we love to laugh and tease pull pranks and are not afraid to look silly, we don’t do it at each others’ expense. We do not tolerate name calling or hurtful comments. We protect each other’s mental, physical, and emotional space. We build each other up.</font></li></ul> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-SOanmK2oS4s/Vpw_JSv9tzI/AAAAAAAAIc8/lXpn0ktlkKU/s1600-h/family%252520pic%2525202%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="family pic 2" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="family pic 2" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-u6xUE_mH0VY/Vpw_KknlaFI/AAAAAAAAIdA/Dy8cbvxH6KA/family%252520pic%2525202_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="564" height="368"></a></p> <ul> <li><font size="4"> Tenacity: If at first we don’t succeed, we try, try again.</font></li></ul> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-DQpqP-VQwOY/Vpw_LQn78mI/AAAAAAAAIdI/bKvdUYwFh6I/s1600-h/egg%252520shoot%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="egg shoot" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="egg shoot" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-HCoEkywuFDg/Vpw_L2edCVI/AAAAAAAAIdM/YaiajRfCrk0/egg%252520shoot_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="430" height="462"></a></p> <ul> <li><font size="4">Fun: Life can be so hard sometimes, so we look for ways to infuse it with fun. Makes for good memories!</font></li></ul> <p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP2FBG73mjm6RsFyLXSulDT7p7VueNcFQ09BSHjBQXxkRNcIjcRSNMaClwi7Fe1cAgHzIqPjUQngj8LVgkENtmMbN7hbGTItYDm9rY3mL6buhigmtElwIhWFMfxGgflqti0dXmbDDsFDY/s1600-h/Neenie%252520snow%252520tubing%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="Neenie snow tubing" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="Neenie snow tubing" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY3VnVScsxM1Y3pEVuxhc5pP2hZKCp-OAqe2ryavfgx74nbz54JHyzOcav-JyNmes_OupCIacGrHJ4K9bpFecIedNsnqsN8HyWTaDPs3cnClILRbVuome-VZBNmXIYyCck0zJ-y1y8f9s/?imgmax=800" width="507" height="392"></a></p> <ul> <li><font size="4">Wonder: The universe is SO big and there is SO much to learn and see and do. It’s like trying to drink from an open hydrant. We are never get bored. (And if we do, I assign chores!)</font></li></ul> <p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi18mL-GaxkvwxnSZ9be3nBJdsMVHHlvy2z9QUUJPu2UR_AYqBuczcft6lSkml77Wf8IQAe-l8le0lVIcTGG4u91f0nrlOMxURjawj1K6_ZRa6cjeV6UQOzKcQHUiudt5immIqu_s7d9zQ/s1600-h/starfish%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="starfish" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="starfish" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-0ZBZjM6viAk/Vpw_OrXQCKI/AAAAAAAAIdo/De7f_Z4YyGU/starfish_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="520" height="402"></a></p>Marissa Genta Pinedahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041902734181450721noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1081904921549015177.post-76500663243923306022016-01-17T16:05:00.001-08:002016-01-17T16:33:35.002-08:00Neighbors<p><font size="4">Today’s prompt: </font></p> <h3><a href="http://smallboxweb.us8.list-manage.com/track/click?u=71b6c554905889148bcb66cff&id=465d98e4e3&e=e6b3eb194b">Be Neighborly</a></h3> <p><font size="4">Maybe you fell for the girl next door or considered building a fence to keep out the nosy neighbor. Tell us a story, draw us a map, or give us a hidden gem about your neighborhood, past or present.</font> <p><font size="4">I love my neighbors, but we don’t do a lot socially. We are all busy with our own lives, but it is nice to wave hello over the fence and to know that someone will grab the paper and the mail and feed the pets if we go out of town. I often think I should have the neighbors over for dinner or something, but I’ve always been better on paper than in person. I would love to get to know my neighbors better, but it’s hard. Letters are easier—so maybe I’ll just get to know my neighbors via mail. Yeah, that sounds good.</font> <p><font size="4">Dear Neighbors,</font> <p><font size="4">I had a good time the other night yelling, together, at our dogs as they chased each other around on their respective sides of the fence. Seems they’re really getting along now, don’t you think?</font> <p><font size="4"> I hope you enjoyed the monster zucchinis we gave you last year. We meant to give you a basket full of the colorful and nutritious bounty from our garden, but the zucchini was the only thing the voles didn’t devour or destroy. We gave you the baseball bat sized zukes, because we thought you’d appreciate having some food storage. For the rest of your natural lives.</font> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-7qI_8haG0xI/Vpwy0O2TP4I/AAAAAAAAIbU/x7r1xDtmNEQ/s1600-h/zukes%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img title="zukes" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="zukes" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-k-VUNE5SFrQ/Vpwy0nvYmPI/AAAAAAAAIbY/KrDNry4AxXM/zukes_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="312" height="425"></a> <p><font size="4">Please excuse my kids throwing three different frisbees onto your roof in as many hours and then climbing up there without your permission to retrieve them. The fourth frisbee fell off on it’s own. I’ve confiscated the frisbees. </font> <p><font size="4">Oh, and helping your little girl look for her lost tortoise this fall was actually really fun, glad Squirtacious Ralph found his way home again. We made and stamped a passport for him in honor of his trip around the backyard berm.</font> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Ph00hd0-BBc/Vpwy1H4rdCI/AAAAAAAAIbk/jxXlLA21ipI/s1600-h/russian%252520tortoise%25255B8%25255D.jpg"><img title="russian tortoise" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="russian tortoise" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-WkfEeVt57mk/Vpwy18KImvI/AAAAAAAAIbo/qqZFrSLgsjU/russian%252520tortoise_thumb%25255B3%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="506" height="343"></a> <p><font size="4">Thanks for not killing our cats when they pooped in your flower beds and antagonized your dogs. </font> <p><font size="4">I’m really glad you laughed along with me as I “planted” 74 pink plastic flamingos in my yard, just to piss of the HOA. Oh, wait, you’re on the HOA board—guess the joke’s on me. At any rate, thanks for not fining me.</font> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Ny_TEdiibNw/Vpwy2EAOibI/AAAAAAAAIb0/ajCCWDwu_5s/s1600-h/flamingos%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="flamingos" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="flamingos" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ayH30nsinwA/Vpwy2pynyMI/AAAAAAAAIb4/IVb8tiJhUqw/flamingos_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="519" height="285"></a> <p><font size="4">Oh, </font><font size="4">hey, and if my four year old tells you that you have “jiggly big bum cheeks” it’s because her brother taught her to say “jiggly big bum cheeks” and we all laughed so hard when she said it the first time that now she thinks she’s telling a joke. It’s not a judgment on anyone’s size or level of fitness. Thanks for understanding, and if you have any suggestions for other, more entertaining phrases for her to parrot for days on end, we’d love to hear them. </font> <p><font size="4">Thanks for not calling CPS when my younger kids ran outside to play in their skivvies in 30 degree weather. It seems you and I share the same child-rearing philosophy: “If the little exhibitionsists want coats, they know where to find them.”</font> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-MlMtf7pv8GY/Vpwy3Iz5GpI/AAAAAAAAIcA/Ruam4VAP-HU/s1600-h/skivvies%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img title="skivvies" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="skivvies" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-OEJq_XrWtQc/Vpwy3qZzkjI/AAAAAAAAIcI/wq4zLrA-oiE/skivvies_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="334" height="500"></a></p> <p><font size="4">Also, I hope it was okay that we sugared up your kids that one time and send them home graffitied in glitter and paint and sidewalk chalk. The kids keep talking about tagging the garage, but I told them they had to keep their artistic expressions on the up and up, in socially approved formats.</font> <p><font size="4">Good chatting with you, and I’ll have the husband bring you back your rake….could I borrow a couple of eggs?</font> <p><font size="4">Love, Marissa</font>Marissa Genta Pinedahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041902734181450721noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1081904921549015177.post-78988768317774658752016-01-16T12:21:00.001-08:002016-01-16T12:21:15.203-08:00Animal Kingdom<p><font size="4">Today’s prompt: </font></p> <p><font size="4">Animal Kingdom</font></p> <p><font size="4">Write an ode about the unending loyalty or curious antics of a furry friend. Did you learn something about yourself or th world from your pet this year? Maybe you learned a lesson from an animal in the wild, or a nature program?</font></p> <p><font size="4">As homeschoolers, we are always looking for ways to incorporate learning into regular life. One of the ways we do that is by keeping pets. I firmly believe what Clark Aldrich says about animals in his book Unschooling Rules:</font></p> <blockquote> <p><font size="4">“Children should have as much exposure as possible to animals. In all animals, including domestic, farm, and wild, are entire curricula. There are biology, sociology, genetics, economics, history, cultures, communication, language, hierarchies, governance, relationships, sweeping story arcs, morality, even nutrition, just to name a few. Animals are the perfect microcosms. They are life.” (pp. 27)</font></p></blockquote> <p><font size="4">Our area is zoned for farm animals, but our subdivision codes prohibits them—even chickens, so instead, we have filled our “animal curricula” with pets. We have five cats (three outdoors, two indoors), a dog, a snake, and five birds.</font></p> <p><font size="4">Some of my favorite stories are the adventures chronicled by James Herriot, a country vet in England during the middle part of the 20th century. Herriot lovingly tells of the quirky places, people, and of course, animals he worked with. Here’s my “Reader’s Digest” James Herriot style stories of our own animals:</font></p> <p><font size="4">The Cats:</font></p> <p><font size="4">Gypsy and Tootsie were two ginger cats we got nine years ago, when my then three year old son tried stuffing an entire littler of four week old kittens in his backpack to take home from my aunt’s house. We had to rescue them and return them to their mama, until they were weaned, and then my aunt happily gave them back to us. Gypsy once went missing for three days before he turned up seven miles away at our old house, after we had moved him to our new house. Tootsie, disappeared with him, but never made it back to us.</font></p> <p><font size="2">Gypsy (left) and Tootsie (right) chillin’. They went everywhere together.</font></p> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Q1nel-rI-AA/VpqmHGActmI/AAAAAAAAIZE/YX_F6LWkOw8/s1600-h/Gypsy%252520and%252520Tootsie%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="Gypsy and Tootsie" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="Gypsy and Tootsie" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-MIKQrmCmRr8/VpqmHnUDjoI/AAAAAAAAIZI/90GsIZLXa94/Gypsy%252520and%252520Tootsie_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="356" height="401"></a></p> <p><font size="4">Bobbie is a bobtailed tabby that lived in the garage of a rental of a friend. Bobbie came with the rental and the owners didn’t want her anymore and our friend said she was allergic and that the cat needed more attention than she could give, so we took Bobbie home. She lives in our garage and occasionally comes inside to be loved on, but she rules the garage and doesn’t like to leave her kingdom for too long.</font></p> <p><font size="2">Ellen and Bobbie, on one of Bobbie’s rare forays inside.</font></p> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-KwWe-E6-Ki4/VpqmH34PqcI/AAAAAAAAIZQ/bMXcVYuZLHg/s1600-h/Bobbie%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img title="Bobbie" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="Bobbie" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-8NThhAOHw68/VpqmImn-QDI/AAAAAAAAIZY/lAaaoUH523U/Bobbie_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="313" height="555"></a></p> <p><font size="4">Hagrid is a massive, long haired, grey and white tuxedo cat with huge green eyes, that I got from the local humane society. He is large boned and muscular, and his long hair makes him appear even larger. His paws are almost as big as my palms. We like to joke that he’s part lynx. My daughter and I were volunteering and when I first saw him. His adoption fee was only 10 dollars, due to his age (eight years) and size. Hagrid’s number was up, and he was scheduled to meet his demise the next day, if not adopted. I encouraged everyone who came into the humane society to take a look at him, but no one was interested. It didn’t help that he was terribly shy and didn’t want to come out of his kennel. He was very stressed in the small cage. </font></p> <p><font size="4">My daughter and I fulfilled our volunteer duties and left, but I couldn’t quit thinking about the large, scared cat. After a couple of hours, I couldn’t stand it, I drove back and got him. He lives in our garage, too, having staked out a dark corner for himself. We have encouraged him to come inside, but he yowls like we’re torturing him when we bring him inside, so we’ve tried to make him as comfortable as we can in the garage. Bobbie doesn’t like him, but they generally steer clear of each other. Hagrid has recently started venturing outside into the yard to get the lay of the land. He is timid, but craves affection and is warming up to us. It’s taken him awhile, but he’s finally settling in.</font></p> <p><font size="2">Hagrid in the garage, before he would let me hold him.</font></p> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-d5DBbFacd60/VpqmJNWvgGI/AAAAAAAAIZg/UBMyqRSWNKw/s1600-h/Hagrid%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="Hagrid" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="Hagrid" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHtHmN1kQr5CHQeQpYo8qpKv8DL0ug0Behls0Yq60r44K8JRY0UbvNWRnUew-pZ8ATPbyIlK_HF3C4yhrsctq8COn4HLhDE9tkzZCumghy3I4dJPKLhwojl_tFqtObt32WJ5ppjp9xNFY/?imgmax=800" width="505" height="361"></a></p> <p><font size="4">Our other two cats are ginger kittens named Fred and George. They are about four months old and will live inside until spring, when it’s warmer and they are big enough not to be prey to the coyotes and birds of prey that patrol our area, looking for easy meals. Much like their Harry Potter namesakes, they are full of mischief and are always getting into laughable trouble.</font> </p> <p><font size="2">Fred (left) and George (right), resident rabble-rousers. I just realized how much they look like Gypsy and Tootsie. (though they are not related, so far as we know.) Aww.</font></p> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-62sjc6s_lE8/VpqmKdwx-PI/AAAAAAAAIZw/bKr5E4wtWHY/s1600-h/Fred%252520and%252520George%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="Fred and George" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="Fred and George" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-qxoGWufzuDs/VpqmKt9c9AI/AAAAAAAAIZ4/co1W1MFd9Qw/Fred%252520and%252520George_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="464" height="330"></a></p> <p><font size="4">The Dog:</font></p> <p><font size="4">Cookie came to us from the humane society, listed as a 1.5 year old “Border Collie Mix.” He is a gorgeous dog, with a black and white double coat and feathered legs and tail. He has beautiful eyes—one blue, one brown. Cookie has the build and behaviors of a Border Collie, though he is longer in the leg than the standard. I wonder what he’s mixed with, but we’ll never know. We opted to send him away for training for a few weeks about a month after we got him, because, although he was a remarkably good dog, we could see that he was on his way to developing bad habits as we fumbled through trying to train him on our own. He was too smart for us. He completed his training and then it was our turn for the trainer to train us. It was a wonderful experience as we learned about canine behavior, and the importance of consistency in training. Cookie is high energy and requires a lot of mental and physical stimulation, which in turn challenges us mentally and physically to keep ahead of him, but he is remarkably forgiving and always, always game for anything.</font> </p> <p><font size="2">Finding a good picture of Cookie was tough. In most pictures, he’s photographs blurry as he streaks from one place to another.</font></p> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-WANp74-eMMg/VpqmLLy-GvI/AAAAAAAAIaA/cPq0SfCr4qY/s1600-h/Cookie%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="Cookie" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="Cookie" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-FOExeElGf5c/VpqmLqPKhII/AAAAAAAAIaI/SEespfVqySo/Cookie_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="493" height="354"></a></p> <p><font size="4">The Snake:</font></p> <p><font size="4">One of my favorite book series’ is Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events. One of the characters in the second book is a herpetologist named Montgomery Montgomery. I fell in love with the character and his menagerie of weird reptilian pets. This prompted me to go looking for my own reptiles and I was lucky enough to find a young corn snake for sale on Craigslist. We named our snake Monty, a nod to both to my favorite herpetologist and to Monty Python. (hahaha!) Monty lives in a beautiful terrarium and is as mellow and good natured as can possibly be.</font></p> <p><font size="2">Monty is considering a career in jewelry design. Here he is modeling a new bracelet concept for Calvin.</font></p> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-zfslUS_4C7w/VpqmMBvUtKI/AAAAAAAAIaU/yVt_SLVQtkw/s1600-h/Monty%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="Monty" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="Monty" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgpJjHPg_R0wN6tbpUV9selKKO_xZiRIXWDjYE_v8UVQltQaoXUsFPtGPDn-lNfykInp4T-pfZj-z4gYzlUy7BN_NRkKs87WwLNv3bO4Q1rn2Ks2DkRHsGVl64kzrenKrhz13VzSUohq0/?imgmax=800" width="460" height="420"></a></p> <p><font size="4">The Birds:</font></p> <p><font size="4">Growing up, I kept parakeets. I have always loved their chattering and squawking. Today, our family has four zebra finches and a cockatiel. My oldest son developed an interest in birds early on and begged us to let him get birds of his own. Unfortunately, he is allergic to parrots, so we’d had to give away our flock of budgies a few years previously. However, he was NOT allergic to songbirds, so we alllowed him to buy some society finches. </font></p> <p><font size="4">I am a little conflicted about letting young children care for animals, because of the sometimes hard lessons at the expense of the animals, that come with the child’s inevitable forgetfulness and naivete. He lost a few finches due to these lessons and they were sad days, indeed. Now, however, he is more experienced and compassionate and mature enough to understand the necessity of regular care for creatures that cannot meet their own needs. We currently have four zebra finches (Elsa, Houdini, Robin Williams, and John Paul Jingleheimer) and we also have a cockatiel named Peaches. Peaches was a wary, shy bird who came to us from a friend who had outgrown him. My son has spent much time working with Peaches and has gained his trust and affection. I love Peaches because he spends his mornings wolf whistling.</font></p> <p><font size="2">Left to right: Robin Williams, John Paul Jingleheimer, Beep (deceased), and Elsa. Not pictured: Houdini (His name explains it all.)</font></p> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-HewInp4JQJo/VpqmNIv-mEI/AAAAAAAAIag/jczILiiFLNw/s1600-h/finches%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="finches" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="finches" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-_WZoCH__XFo/VpqmNoVYNaI/AAAAAAAAIao/ZG5gJWceHFY/finches_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="475" height="283"></a></p> <p><font size="2">Peaches. Chillin’.</font></p> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-QqFQ9hz-opM/VpqmOOWbc1I/AAAAAAAAIaw/u9U-WDz3SUI/s1600-h/Peaches%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="Peaches" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="Peaches" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-BoED2l-cxhI/VpqmOnoBHPI/AAAAAAAAIa4/yqU6b28Nioo/Peaches_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="412" height="501"></a></p> <p> </p> <p>The Others and a conclusion:</p> <p>I’m sure we’re not at the end of owning different kinds of pets. Two of my kids are actively saving for guinea pigs and a hedgehog, respectively. I am not a big fan of rodent-like animals and didn’t love having the rabbits we had for about a year, but the kids are determined to try their hand at caring for these other animals. </p> <p>One thing I’ve discovered about having pets is that I have become LESS sentimental about them—as much as I love them---I am not afraid to re-home pets that are not being taken care of well. (Our rabbits were ultimately rehomed because the kids weren’t interacting with them or cleaning the cage often enough for my liking.) I cannot abide dirty, smelly cages, or dander and fur all over everything. So, the care and keeping of the pets in order to keep my house clean and orderly is a high priority! It is frustrating when the kids don’t keep my schedule or standard for cleaning and maintenance, but I know they are still learning (especially the younger ones) and I am trying to be patient as I teach them the importance of proper care for our pets. </p>Marissa Genta Pinedahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041902734181450721noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1081904921549015177.post-31503306981425036972016-01-14T20:01:00.001-08:002016-01-14T20:47:09.947-08:00On mourning the passing of an artist<p><font size="3">Today, I woke up to learn that Alan Rickman had just died of cancer. Just like when I heard Robin Williams had died, I checked several different news sources for confirmation before I would believe it, and when I finally did, I was breathless with the sense of loss. To say I am terribly sad would be an understatement, but to admit that I feel a deep, gaping grief for a man I’ve never met and have only seen in movies and heard on the radio makes me feel a bit foolish, like I may have misplaced my sense of what is truly important in my life—and yet…</font></p> <p><font size="3">When we are moved by an artist’s work, that work (and therefore the artist) becomes a part of us, informing or reflecting how we personally see and experience the world. To lose the artist is to lose a part of ourselves.</font></p> <p><font size="3">So maybe it’s not so foolish after all.</font></p> <p><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-xCUdFrmZKuI/VphvI3TxvLI/AAAAAAAAIYo/4NxPBtjDJuA/s1600-h/Alan%252520Rickman%252520Art%252520Robust%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img title="Alan Rickman Art Robust" style="border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px; border-top-width: 0px" border="0" alt="Alan Rickman Art Robust" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-tmPSvcJxZ2A/VphvJp0y4_I/AAAAAAAAIYs/DwHdPdKp8cg/Alan%252520Rickman%252520Art%252520Robust_thumb%25255B3%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="498" height="520"></a></p>Marissa Genta Pinedahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041902734181450721noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1081904921549015177.post-65734020080508528582016-01-12T16:00:00.001-08:002016-01-12T16:00:12.455-08:00Playdates, friends, and schedules, oh sigh….<p><font size="4">Today’s prompt:</font></p> <h3><a href="http://smallboxweb.us8.list-manage.com/track/click?u=71b6c554905889148bcb66cff&id=975340ed57&e=e6b3eb194b">Play Date</a></h3> <p><font size="4">You know the story about all work and no play... How did you play with others this year? Let your hair down and share how you escaped for an hour, a day, or more.</font> <p><font size="4">Finding friends for my kids to play with takes work. Since we homeschool, we aren’t on the same schedule as our public school neighbors and church friends. And we aren’t on the same schedule as many of our homeschool friends…so we have to be very intentional to make sure the kids get time to play and hang out with other kids. This is harder some years than others. </font> <p><font size="4">When the kids were all elementary school aged and younger, we lived across the street from another homeschooling family. At first we thought this would afford insta-playmates, but alas, it didn’t. The other family’s schedule was the complete opposite of ours. We stayed home in the morning doing school work and turned the afternoons over to project-and-play time. The other family ran around town all morning and then came home to study in the afternoon. By the time 4 pm hit, our families were headed out for dance, karate, or church activities. It was frustrating, and I often found myself cutting lessons short and hurrying my kids outside to play when I could see the neighbor kids outside enjoying “recess” while their mother prepared their lunch. My kids loved their friends across the street, but they didn’t get to see them all that much---weekends were a little better, though.</font> <p><font size="4">Then we moved to a smaller town and the ten minute drive to get to our old area so the kids could get together to play suddenly seemed like the most insurmountable obstacle to overcome. Our families gradually quit seeing each other socially (much to my family’s sadness) because it was a hassle to try to coordinate schedules.</font> <p><font size="4">We joined a homeschool co-op with about 20 other kids of various ages and we did that twice a week for three-ish years. One of the best things about the co-op was lunch time, when the kids could really cut loose and just play and run around. Eventually, we left the co-op—which was sad, because there were some really good things happening there, but when we left, it was because it wasn’t fitting our academic and scheduling needs. We spent a semester away, thinking we’d join up again the next fall, but after the planning meeting that involved a complete restructuring of the co-op, it all fell apart and didn’t happen. </font> <p><font size="4">A couple of the moms decided to continue getting their families together, and then a third family joined them (essentially re-forming the co-op) but we just found out about it in December, via Facebook. I don’t know that they were intentionally trying to leave us out—I think they just picked days that worked for them and went with it. My kids were a little hurt when they found out, but when I pointed out that we have since made other friends, they decided to focus on what they have instead of what they don’t have.</font> <p><font size="4">This fall, we were invited to join another co-op, but it didn’t quite mesh with our schedule. Undaunted, we asked if we could just crash their “post-co-op-playtime” and just come over after the co-op and let the kids run around and play games and just have a big playdate. We were welcomed enthiastically! This has worked really well, and so we go over to this family’s house every week and there are usually upwards of 30 kids in various age ranges that all my kids always have SOMEONE to play with. While there are some regulars, each week usually includes new kids to play with, so the group dynamics have never gotten clique-y, and everyone has a friend. The little kids run around pretending to be kitties or playing with toys and the big kids play board games, flirt, and otherwise goof off. When the weather is nice, the kids run around outside. Also, there are usually other moms to talk to---obviously, the mom hosting is there—and she’s a blast! But sometimes the other moms stay and visit. Other times, they are off runnig errands or prepping for school or whatever. It’s a pretty great set-up, with my kids’ only complaint being that they wish we could do it more than once a week! It has been fun to see the kids become friends and share a few activities outside the play day….again, my kids only wish they could do more!!!</font> <p><font size="4">My teens are the most vocal about wanting more “friend time” and we’ve gotten them involved in several community and after-school activities (choir, book club, church youth group, dance) in the hopes that they make more friends and meet different kinds of people. They enjoy these activites, and have occasionally reached out and invited kids from those things over, but trying to schedule a playdate is hard, even among homeschoolers. You have to cast your net pretty wide to get one scheduled, and then half the time, they fall through, because something comes up or someone gets sick or whatever the reason is. We are guilty of doing this to others, too. It’s just life.</font> <p><font size="4">I don’t really know where I’m going with this post, other than it’s just my thoughts on what’s happening and how the kids are doing socially. They love their game-day buddies and I would love for them to have more opportunities to spend time with them, but we’re in such a busy season of life, as are our friends. There just isn’t a whole lot of downtime to allow for spontaneous get-togethers. Summers are a little easier, but even then, we’re all running around doing our own things a lot.</font>Marissa Genta Pinedahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041902734181450721noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1081904921549015177.post-39122831104424634962016-01-11T21:22:00.001-08:002016-01-11T21:22:45.495-08:00Blah.<p>Today’s prompt:</p> <h3><a href="http://smallboxweb.us8.list-manage.com/track/click?u=71b6c554905889148bcb66cff&id=5fd5858f75&e=e6b3eb194b">Role Models</a></h3> <p>Life is so much easier when you have someone to help you navigate. What makes a mentor great? Have you ever had a mentor? Been someone else's? <p>Casting around for a way to work this prompt, I thought of the ice-breaker game question “If you could have dinner with anyone in the world, living or dead, who would it be?” There are too many people for me to pick just one, so I’m going to tweak the question a bit---and answer this: “If you threw a dinner party and could invite anyone you wanted, living or dead, real or fictional, who would you include?” <p>My dinner party guest list: <p>JK Rowling <p>Albus Dumbledore <p>Remus Lupin <p>Jane Eyre <p>Barbara Kingsolver <p>Eric Greitens <p>Maya Angelou <p>Oprah Winfrey <p>Tim Burton <p>Ben Carson <p>These are all people (or characters) I find fascinating and have held up as models for various aspects of my life. Yes, really. Certainly I could add more, but these are the first that came to mind….and once I looked over the list, I started considering how I would arrange the seating for this group, and then remembering that I hate dinner parties, and then my head started hurting because it’s late and I’m tired and need to go to bed. This daily prompt thing is tough. I’m just gonna call this one a win for getting it done on time, quality of content be damned. But I would still really like to hang out with JK Rowling. Marissa Genta Pinedahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041902734181450721noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1081904921549015177.post-24167065888395438382016-01-10T04:56:00.001-08:002016-01-10T05:11:40.404-08:00Figments in Four: Part 1<p><font size="3">Today’s prompt</font>: </p> <h3><a href="http://smallboxweb.us8.list-manage1.com/track/click?u=71b6c554905889148bcb66cff&id=2fb0972d47&e=e6b3eb194b">Homies</a></h3> <p><font size="3">Friends are our chosen family. They have the wonderful capacity to make us laugh till we cry, to hold us up in dark hours and to keep our secrets under lock and key. Tell a friendship story. </font> <p><font size="3">What do three Maasai warriors, a twenty one year old Cherokee man, a former WWE wrestler suffering from acromegaly, and a female African American artist have in common? </font> <p><font size="3">They were all my imaginary friends.</font> <p><font size="3">Like many others in middle school, I was ferociously bullied. I wore glasses, had frizzy red hair, bad teeth, and painful, disfiguring acne. I was a real stunner. I was also uncoordinated, shy, and socially awkward. So, you know, that made me an easy target.</font> <p><font size="3">I endured the standard name calling and taunting, but was also treated to regular butt and breast grabbing (by boys AND girls), pushing, shoving, tripping, spitting, pencil stabbing, fingernail scratching, buckling (being thwacked in the back of the head by a belt buckle), and so much gum stuck in my hair that I ended up with a quarter sized bald spot over the crown of my head from trying to pull it out on my own. The few times I tried to defend myself, weakling that I was, I was overpowered and threatened with worse treatment.</font> <p><font size="3">I don’t know where the teachers and hall monitors were when this was going on day after day, and riding the bus was the seventh circle of Hell. When I complained to the “trusted adults” you’re supposed to be able to confide in, I was brushed off and told to ignore it. At most, I was told “You should have responded thus: _______.” It was like the adults didn’t hear me, couldn’t SEE the naked scalp, the long, red scratches on my arms and legs, the bruises and gouges, the mucousy gobs of spittle soaking into my shirt and running down my hair. Where in God’s name were the people who were supposed to protect me?</font> <p><font size="3">Things got so bad, I began to have anxiety attacks and would pray nightly that either I die or that my tormentors die before I had to go to school again. I thought the blackest thoughts and took respite in plans to take my own life. </font> <p><font size="3">One day, the worst day, I decided to do it. Recently, a little boy in a neighboring town had been hit and killed by his school bus as he crossed the street. I had to cross in front of my bus to walk home after school, so I told myself that instead of crossing the street after my ever-vigilant bus driver waved me clear, I’d start walking on the right side of the road and dash out in front of the wheels when the bus began to move. I can still see my bus driver’s suspicious face as I refused his wave to cross the road, and walked weak kneed, up the right side of the road. I remember peering backward at the face of the bus, then at the front right tire, my heart pounding as I calculated the timing to get run over. I can still feel the whoosh of hot exhaust as the bus pulled back it’s stop sign and rumbled forward, past me. As the bus left me in a cloud of exhaust, I felt…abandoned. </font> <p><font size="3">Horror and relief pooled like water in every joint and I collapsed to my knees on the sidewalk. Acid tears poured from me. In anguish, I cried until I was parched.</font> <p><font size="3">And then, I heard a deep, gentle chuckle. Fearful—frantic, I looked around, expecting to see someone standing on his front porch, laughing at me. But I was alone on the sidewalk. I heard the laughter again, then the low sounds of men talking together, as if sharing a funny story. I couldn’t hear the words, but their tone was kind. I looked around again, and though I was still alone, I saw three tall, thin, Maasai warriors. They huddled loosely together a few feet behind me, chatting casually. I stared at them, seeing them—but not REALLY seeing them.</font> <p><font size="3">They didn’t look at me, didn’t even acknowledge me, but I knew they were there for me. I stood shakily, and began to wobble-walk home. The warriors followed. I didn’t look back, but I knew they were there. They moved from their cluster, two of them flanking me on either side, and the third walking behind me, adjusting their long-legged strides to my short legged paces. They talked and laughed softly over my head the entire time, and their voices soothed me. </font> <p><font size="3">When I reached my driveway, they broke rank and fell back. At my front door, I turned to look at them. They were walkng away, already across the street. The tallest man then turned, smiled kindly, and waved farewell. And then they disappeared.</font> <p><font size="3">I knew they weren’t real, but the comfort and peace I felt in their presence…that was real.</font> <p><font size="3">This post is part of <a href="http://thinkkit.org/">Think Kit</a> by <a href="http://smallbox.com/">SmallBox</a>.</font></p>Marissa Genta Pinedahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041902734181450721noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1081904921549015177.post-26255888863760613822016-01-08T10:06:00.001-08:002016-01-08T10:10:56.186-08:00Finding My People<p>Today’s prompt:</p> <h3><a href="http://smallboxweb.us8.list-manage2.com/track/click?u=71b6c554905889148bcb66cff&id=7601e0e92a&e=e6b3eb194b">Communal Circles</a></h3> <p><font size="4">What new circles have you formed? Any unexpected ones? Did you start a book club or hang out in a tea yurt? Maybe you re-upped with existing friends. Explore your kumbaya moment from 2015.</font> <p><font size="4">When my husband and I bought our first house, it was in a brand new subdivision full of brand new starter homes. Most of the neighbors moving in were in the “acquisition” stage of life, like we were. We were all fresh out of college, starting families, buying furniture, and for some weird reason, hosting Tupperware type parties. At first, it seemed a good way to meet the neighbors and make friends—invite them to your Pampered Chef party or go to their scented candle party…and buy overpriced stuff, of course. </font> <p><font size="4">These parties were always touted by the hostess as a “girls’ night out” and they did have that air, at least until the sales pitch started. I’ll admit, I hosted a few myself, but I found that attendance at my parties was pretty low, as were the sales—probably because when I attended others’ parties, I didn’t spend a lot of money, if any. At first I did—buying up rubber stamps and food choppers and jewelry, but after awhile, I realized how ridiculous and wasteful it all was. So, I quit buying—but I still got invitations for awhile, and I was hungry for friends (hard to come by in the pre-Facebook world as a stay-at-home mom bound by nap schedules) so I would go for the party atmosphere and some socializing. I thought the ladies that invited me to these things were my friends, but shortly after I quit throwing money toward whatever things they were peddling, The invitations dried up and I didn’t really see my “friends” anymore, except at church on Sundays.</font> <p><font size="4">The gals at church were nice, but I didn’t click with most of them, and it wasn’t for lack of trying. I’m not exactly sure why I didn’t end up in one of the clearly delineated groups of close friends. I would hear them talking about the birthday parties they’d put on for their kids together or the work out groups they’d formed, and wonder why I wasn’t invited. Fortunately, over the years, I made a couple or three very close friends as they moved into the area—but we gradually lost touch when they moved back out. I spent a lot of time feeling pretty lonely and discouraged and left out as a young mother. This bugged me, because it felt like an adult version of junior high or high school.</font> <p><font size="4">It wasn’t until my husband and I decided to homeschool our kids that I found my people. We didn’t know a whole lot about what resources were available, or how many other people in our area homeschooled, so I immersed myself in research. I found a couple of homeschooling conferences and met with many, many homeschooling families---at first I went to conferences and meetings to see what kind of weirdos did this homeschooling thing, but I was happily suprised to find that most homeschoolers are perfectly normal, not the ultra-conservative, borderline religious fundamentalists I had seen on TV. I learned that our city had a large and thriving homeschooling community and information and access to so many educational resources it made my head spin. </font> <p><font size="4">There were several homeschool support groups in the area and I tried to join them—only to find that in order to participate in their activities, I had to sign a statement of faith that conflicted with my own beliefs. I was disappointed and hurt by how exclusionary these groups turned out to be, but eventually stumbled onto a support group that didn’t require a statement of faith and, in fact, made it very clear that ANY homeschooling family was welcome. It turns out this group was founded by some Mormon homeschoolers FOR Mormon homeschoolers, since no other group would take them. While there was definitely a Mormon flavor to the group, it was purposely set up to be inclusive, and in the years I’ve been involved with it, we’ve had homeschooling families of all stripes join the ranks.</font> <p><font size="4">It was in this group that I found the friends I so desperately desired. The group hosts monthly “Mothers’ Meetings” where women can get together and discuss all things related to home education, motherhood, and life. I found this group incredibly supportive as a new, bewildered, stressed out homeschooler. It was so reassuring to talk to “veteran” moms, who had years of experience teaching their own, and commiserate or celebrate with the other “newbie” moms. </font> <p><font size="4">My family has since moved from our starter home, and found our place in our new church congregation, but the constant has been my homeschooling moms’ group. I laugh and cry and pray with these women, go on adventures and retreats with them and their families, and we teach each other’s children. Homeschooling mothers think outside the box and are so incredibly generous with their time and knowledge---it was easy to make friends, feel included, and in turn, support the other women in the group.</font> <p><font size="4">It was in my homeschooling group that I found real camaraderie and friendship, and confidence as a mother, teacher, and leader. I now serve on the administrative board of the group as the membership and social media coordinator, and I love being part of such an awesome group of women and families.</font> <p><font size="3">This post is part of <a href="http://thinkkit.org">Think Kit</a> by <a href="http://smallbox.com">SmallBox</a>.</font></p>Marissa Genta Pinedahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041902734181450721noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1081904921549015177.post-10266953340613630202016-01-07T14:15:00.001-08:002016-01-07T14:15:34.121-08:00Taking a Lifeline<p><font size="4">Today’s prompt from Think Kit wasn’t doing it for me, so I decided to peruse the prompts from previous years. This one is from 2013:</font></p> <p><font size="4">A Little Bit of Learning</font> <p><font size="4">Did you get any good advice or learn a valuable lesson this year? What was it?</font> <p><font size="4">The most valuable lesson I have learned in recent years has been this: Relationships have a lifespan, and the key to surviving the hurt and pain that come from an ended relationship---whether that of friends, lovers, or even mentor and student, is to focus with gratitude on what was good, what you gained, and the lessons you learned and can carry with you into the future.</font> <a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-P5pR5Cuv8sg/Vo7jgtRiPeI/AAAAAAAAIYE/n07sUmF0of4/s1600-h/DSC_0548%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img title="DSC_0548" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="DSC_0548" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-iMqYI2gVL7k/Vo7jhNFu__I/AAAAAAAAIYI/deqVllHfSNQ/DSC_0548_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="559" height="383"></a> <p>This post is part of <a href="http://thinkkit.org">Think Kit</a> by <a href="http://smallbox.com">SmallBox</a>.</p>Marissa Genta Pinedahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041902734181450721noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1081904921549015177.post-63472459210373042172016-01-06T09:31:00.001-08:002016-01-06T09:34:27.968-08:00Hear, Hear!<p>Today’s prompt:</p> <p><font size="4">Do you hear what I hear? Tell us about a sound. What do you hear in your house or at work?</font> <p><font size="4">Right now, I am attempting to ignore my four year old as she scolds our two kittens for antagonizing the cokatiel. One of my sons is listening to a lesson for school on his brother’s Kindle Fire. I can hear our four zebra finches beeping and chattering away in their little voices, sounding like feathered clown cars and creaky gears. </font> <p><font size="4">One of the other kids is practicing the piano—the same eight measures over and over again, perfecting the intricate fingering. He broke his arm eight weeks ago, making him unable to play, and he’s been stressing about his upcoming music festival—he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to participate, but the cast came off two days ago, and he’s making up for lost time, determined to master the music in time to compete.</font> <p><font size="4">One of the kittens just streaked past the dog, making him jump and bark his head off, pawing at his crate door. Guess I’ll go put the kittens away before I let him out. Our Border Collie has a strong prey drive, and I worry one of these days he’ll catch one of them.</font> <p><font size="4">E-mail notifications are pinging as I sit at the computer, tick-ticking away at this post. I can hear the big rigs carrying fill dirt or sugar beets rumbling down the rural highway behind my house and the not-so-distant train announcing it’s crossing the road on the tracks less than a mile away. When we moved out here, to Nowhere’sville, we didn’t know about the trains—and they kept us up at nights—their horns and whistles shrieking on the hour at 1:00, 2:00, and at 3:30. Now, we don’t even notice them---but visiting guests always do.</font> <p><font size="4">Finally, the boy on the piano is getting those measures right—sounds like he’s satisfied, as he’s now stumbling through a different piece. He’s persistent. He’ll get it.</font> <p><font size="4">This post is part of <a href="http://thinkkit.org">Think Kit</a> by <a href="http://smallbox.com">SmallBox</a>.</font>Marissa Genta Pinedahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09041902734181450721noreply@blogger.com2