tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59560499219125189912024-03-13T12:41:34.605-04:00Reveries and SoliloquiesLydiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00955620317099864194noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956049921912518991.post-59299618002386921512012-08-14T16:23:00.002-04:002012-08-14T16:23:53.698-04:00This Blog Has Moved<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Woes of the Single Christian Female </i>has moved to a new domain and name. Please update your RSS and Google Reader feeds to the new site:</div>
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<i><a href="http://www.reveriesandsoliloquies.com/" target="_blank">Reveries and Soliloquies</a> </i>
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I am sad to see this site go but I am so excited to start a new blogging journey on this personal site. A lot has changed since I started <i>Woes of the Single Christian Female</i> and it is time to bid <i>adieu </i>for one last time. </div>
Lydiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00955620317099864194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956049921912518991.post-70332244030360906482012-03-09T00:18:00.001-05:002012-03-09T00:18:55.895-05:00Overcoming the "S" Word<div style="text-align: center;">
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<i><b>Joke of the Day:<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></b><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Old people at weddings always poke me and say, "You're Next." So, I started doing the same thing to them at funerals.</span></span></i></div>
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The title of this blog is <u>Woes of the Single Christian Female</u>, and one word-yes, <i>that</i> word-has become a bone of contention of late. I picked this title because when I created this blog at the spry age of 20, it described my situation and point of view: single, Christian, and female. Only one of those words is a variable, but at times it feels like more of a branding. Almost five years later so much about me has changed, but that "S" word is still there and making its presence known. </div>
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If I told you this hasn't started to bother me, I would be lying. As younger acquaintances and family members enter in to relationships, get married, and start families there is always that well meaning person who pats my knee and says, "Don't worry. There is someone out there for you too." Who was worrying? Well, geez thanks, now I am. Was the age of old maid lowered without my knowledge? Please God, don't let my inner Marissa Tomei ever come heel stomping to the surface! </div>
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Well honey let me out of the pressure cooker because God has given me a revelation (via my not so little brother Matthew). Somehow a destructive lie has weaselled itself in to my brain (well, that's a lie-I know how it got there) that the ultimate pursuit in life is to fall in love, get married, and have children. While that is still <i>very much</i> the desire of my heart, it shouldn't be the <i>first </i>desire of my heart. I have let the dream of the Happily Ever After take over the dream of the Happily Starting Now. </div>
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I have been following the series for singles by <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/richwilkersonjr" target="_blank">Rich Wilkerson Jr</a> from the Rendezvous since my brother posted a link on Twitter. I was so convicted! I have allowed Satan to play up to my greatest insecurities on the battlefield that is my mind. Consequently, my relationship that is the most fulfilling and overflowing with unconditional love and intimacy-my relationship with God-has suffered. I have unconsciously turned this into a selfish, Godless pursuit. Selfish in the sense that it is all about me (my wants, me needs) and Godless in the sense that I have pulled this area of my life out of His hands by worrying and complaining. </div>
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Let's be honest-I'm no preacher. I have linked the 3 part series below and hope that it will bless you and speak to you as much as it has to me. I am actually excited again about this time in my life and looking forward to the endless possibilities for growth and maturity! </div>
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Part 1: <a href="http://player.multicastmedia.com/player.php?v=fb72hj3i&video_uuid=fb72hj3i">As It Turned Out</a></div>
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<a href="http://player.multicastmedia.com/player.php?v=fb72hj3i&video_uuid=fb72hj3i" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlqV5noblJTD6-SNSxCkdnaj3zrAQ1jPpNO5ULL8OMm0SNJfVPmbMzUC8Z0pboRF-IXu_wK3N3NrDXhGZvj2ouGNlvx7k-a-6Vu2vv8mAjyCQSwa6EPtct9dkAsvLyjMbcpOW_t9sIvZg/s320/Screen+Shot+2012-03-07+at+6.25.58+PM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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Part 2: <a href="http://player.multicastmedia.com/player.php?v=c782k7rb&video_uuid=c782k7rb">The Single Benefit</a></div>
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<a href="http://player.multicastmedia.com/player.php?v=c782k7rb&video_uuid=c782k7rb" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="182" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9a4zqkwZbLGO15ZMFgZfsyrqGgduOIAjpbgxBr_4jug1NgEF6ziWoeK7s8x_dPl30pq4kSiWPE8-U2wH2yNlIpPWmW8DOnho3v52PphpNLoc82l6MPe0jYeUrSYidW1Da-mwWp849y2I/s320/Screen+Shot+2012-03-07+at+6.26.51+PM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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Part 3: <a href="http://player.multicastmedia.com/player.php?v=d6i0e1cc&video_uuid=d6i0e1cc" target="_blank">Love Won't Wait on the Wounded</a></div>
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<a href="http://player.multicastmedia.com/player.php?v=d6i0e1cc&video_uuid=d6i0e1cc" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_novMZOMWdFkm3nofOsGMdzUofJlrRKl2uCf_QS2_kcEzXYStdBPb0irYhyr5z3S1jVSN8FlgiiTERoji5BlxzM0tmAxFNmEdnOzD0m9bfJrzNBaOQcCAwOhsfQXZnaeBbrKIbuWJer4/s320/Screen+Shot+2012-03-07+at+6.24.24+PM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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So I have made a choice, a choice that I am going to have to re-choose every morning. I am going to live full out for God and let Him be the love of my life. Anything He chooses to add will be a blessing, but I refuse to put the life He has called to me on hold. </div>
<img align="left" src="http://i1189.photobucket.com/albums/z428/perfectlyimperfectbb/woessignature.jpg" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px;" />Lydiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00955620317099864194noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956049921912518991.post-57762894144533609832011-12-19T21:55:00.003-05:002011-12-20T00:35:02.567-05:00Like A Thief In The Night<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We had an attempted burglary of the four-legged kind last night.<br />
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<i>Picture It: Sunday December 18, 2011. 7:15pm, Suburbia, British Columbia</i><br />
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I am sitting in the warm and toasty basement reading a book when I hear bloodcurdling screams followed by "LYDIA! GET UP HERE NOW!" Once my heart has descended back down my esophagus, I take the stairs three at time to find two hysterical females standing in pitch darkness.</div>
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<b>Me:</b> "What is going on?!"<br />
<b>Mom:</b> "Shhhh!!! Someone just tried to break through the patio door. They were pounding on the glass and shaking it on its hinges."<br />
<b>Me:</b> "What?! Call the police."<br />
<b>Rebekah:</b> "NO! Look through the blinds and see if there is someone there."<br />
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Have you been smoking oregano?! What makes you think I want to crack a shutter and stare in to some masked man's eyes? Nevertheless, I tentatively creep towards the window, crack the shutter, and then hit the lights hoping to illuminate said intruder in the spotlight. </div>
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Nothing. Just our backyard and the the forest beyond. Thinking I could get a better look from the third story, I run upstairs and peer in to the backyard while my sister calls dad to tell him what is happening. Mom and I hear some rustling behind the fence but see nothing, until:</div>
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<b>Mom:</b> Part of the fence is missing!<br />
<b>Me:</b> A human couldn't do that! It must have been a bear.<br />
<b>Mom:</b> Shaking the door?<br />
<b>Me:</b> Your screaming must have scared him and he charged the fence.<br />
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Now, I like shabby chic but this is not what I hand in mind for our backyard:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBqDoNx3v5O977c10BQ1diaZAPW_Pkg0BJjWEZYmPnydeiYBlAaDRkYtMjewP0p63knSHxQBK9PxlTZ9Gvm9O7yWbWeHgcFKg6FTtPQca12XfoELLWfRafT65lrhyy_Q2wmZGTlCD7UdU/s1600/IMG_8296.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBqDoNx3v5O977c10BQ1diaZAPW_Pkg0BJjWEZYmPnydeiYBlAaDRkYtMjewP0p63knSHxQBK9PxlTZ9Gvm9O7yWbWeHgcFKg6FTtPQca12XfoELLWfRafT65lrhyy_Q2wmZGTlCD7UdU/s400/IMG_8296.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Downstairs a semi-hysterical Rebekah is still spying out the window holding the cordless phone like a baseball bat. </div>
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<b>Me: </b>I have to go next door and tell the Lee's not to open their door if they hear banging.</div>
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Well, the sent Rebekah over the edge from frantic to crazy ranting that I was going to become pre-hibernation dessert or end up with my face on a milk carton. I ran next door in my father's slippers and sweatpants to warn my neighbours while <i>Crazy </i>and <i>Crazier</i> stood on the porch twitching at every sound. Turns out, our neighbours don't speak a stitch of English. The conversation went a little like this:</div>
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<b>Me: </b>Hi, you have a bear in your backyard that crashed through our fence.<br />
<b>Teenage Girl: </b>My daddy not home. You come back tomorrow.<br />
<b>Me (with appropriate miming actions): </b>No, No. BIG BEAR. In your backyard. Don't open your door.<br />
<b>Teenage Girl:</b> Yes, you talk to my daddy tomorrow at 10:00am.<br />
<b>Me:</b> It is <i>very dangerous.</i><br />
<b>Teenage Girl: </b>Happy Holidays. You come back tomorrow. <i>(shuts door)</i><br />
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I get back in the house in the knick of time before <i>Mr. I Should Be Hibernating</i> comes lumbering around the corner. And he is HUGE. He must have tapped the fence with his pinky claw and sent it crashing like dominos. By this point most of the neighbours have been alerted to the bear and are yelling at everyone to get inside.</div>
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I call 911 and inform them that a bear is terrorizing or neighbourhood and can they please send Conservation out ASAP. </div>
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<b>Dispatch:</b> Ma'am can you please tell us what the bear is doing now?<br />
<b>Me: </b>Staring at my neighbours through their front window and clawing at their garage.<br />
<b>Dispatch:</b> Ma'am, please keep the bear in your sights. I have alerted Conservation.<br />
<b>Me (in my head):</b> Sure, with my night-vision binoculars and tranquilizer gun.<br />
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Anyways, Conservation never showed so now I have been Googling bear intervention methods:<br />
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<img align="left" src="http://i1189.photobucket.com/albums/z428/perfectlyimperfectbb/woessignature.jpg" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px;" />Lydiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00955620317099864194noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956049921912518991.post-11439011802923347952011-11-05T19:59:00.001-04:002011-11-05T19:59:29.958-04:00Seattle, My Tastebuds Thank You (Part 2)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwPlmwB91migCY85jn9yt_zcHImGDryAztfbl0cV_NNROSx9DXvW_B3oLGhVDDjAZhqXUDLwSAtckUZBbCaLcT065Po3sNGBmL20Cf1qMOZANz9i-64kYWt03grq7MJl0urniDTcKVcwM/s1600/IMG_1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwPlmwB91migCY85jn9yt_zcHImGDryAztfbl0cV_NNROSx9DXvW_B3oLGhVDDjAZhqXUDLwSAtckUZBbCaLcT065Po3sNGBmL20Cf1qMOZANz9i-64kYWt03grq7MJl0urniDTcKVcwM/s400/IMG_1.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Sunday morning we slept in until 7:30 and decided to spend the morning exploring <a href="http://www.pikeplacemarket.org/">Pike Place Market</a> (yes, the place they throw fish). At 8:00am the city was still covered in a fine blanket of misty fog, the streets void of its usual hustle and bustle, but the air was charged with venders setting up shop in anticipation for the masses that would descend in a couple of hours. </div>
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<a href="http://www.lepanier.com/"><b>Le Panier Very French Bakery</b></a><br />
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Whenever I am homesick for Montreal, this is where I will come. When you step over the threshold of Le Panier, your senses are assaulted by the sweet smelling pastries, fragrant coffee, wildly gesturing French expats, and the rustic setting of an authentic boulangerie and patisserie. Probably the best coffee and viennoiseries on the West Coast and for a moment I forgot where I was and just embraced the ambiance. </div>
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<i>(cafe au lait avec cannelle, chocalatine, amandine)</i></div>
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<b><a href="http://tomdouglas.com/index.php?page=serious-pie">Serious Pie</a></b><br />
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I was first introduced to Serious Pie last summer when I came to Seattle for the day with my Dad. Now, no trip to Seattle is complete without a pit stop. In fact, we ordered a potato pizza to take home to Vancouver because we felt for poor dad who had to endure my raving text messages. Strolling around the market and Nordstrom Rack builds an appetite so we were relieved to find Serious Pie lacking its signature hour wait. Our last hurrah to Girls Weekend was two thin crust brick oven pizzas that make this Italian girl bow in reverence to the chef. </div>
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<img align="left" src="http://i1189.photobucket.com/albums/z428/perfectlyimperfectbb/woessignature.jpg" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px;" />Lydiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00955620317099864194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956049921912518991.post-57954377777932576202011-11-05T19:04:00.001-04:002011-11-05T19:06:02.175-04:00Seattle, My Tastebuds Thank You (Part 1)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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If I am not careful, this blog is going to turn into a foodie's travelling chronicles. Last weekend I was in Seattle for the <a href="http://woesofthesinglechristianfemale.blogspot.com/2011/11/women-of-faith-in-seattle.html">Women of Faith conference</a>, and unavoidably, when you feed your soul your stomach starts to growl. By an act of God (and the Seattle Festival planning committee) there was an army of food trucks parked outside Key Arena at lunch time. This was a no-brainer. The sun was shining on a perfectly crisp autumn day and the pavilion was just calling our name. </div>
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I now understand the phenomenon testified to on shows like<a href="http://eatst.foodnetwork.ca/"> Eat St.</a> We don't have food trucks like this in Vancouver so mom and I decided to forgo the questionable chicken sandwiches offered in the conference lunch box and indulge in some mobile cuisine.</div>
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After some life changing deliberation we decided to try the pulled pork and pulled chicken sandwiches from Raney Brothers. </div>
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And eat them here.<br />
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I think Mom's face says it all.<br />
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Out of town conferences usually mean early mornings and long days, so I was in desperate need of caffeine by the lunch break...Unfortunately, so were 5000 other women. Seattle is the land of amazing independent coffee shops (along with being the birthplace of Starbucks) so I wanted some quality brew. Enter Boyd's Coffee <a href="http://www.boyds.com/to-buy/fuel-truck/">Fuel Truck</a>. After downing an aromatic hazelnut latte at a ridiculously low price, my only though was "Starbucks who?"</div>
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<img align="left" src="http://i1189.photobucket.com/albums/z428/perfectlyimperfectbb/woessignature.jpg" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px;" />Lydiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00955620317099864194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956049921912518991.post-53472400207511366722011-11-05T17:33:00.001-04:002011-11-05T17:33:54.415-04:00Women of Faith in Seattle<br />
<b>First posted here on <a href="http://overweight-bookshelf.blogspot.com/2011/11/last-weekend-i-was-given-wonderful.html">The Overweight Bookshelf </a></b><br />
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<a href="http://overweight-bookshelf.blogspot.com/2011/10/women-of-faith-is-going-to-be-over-top.html">Last weekend </a>I was given the wonderful opportunity to attend the Women of Faith Conference in Seattle. Sometimes when you experience something so phenomenal and inspiring, you need time to sit on the information, contemplate it, and internalize it. What makes Women of Faith events unique from other women's conferences I have attended in the past is the transparency and camaraderie of the speakers (aka the porch).<br />
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I wish I could summarize the whole weekend for you but, aside from that resulting in a post long enough to be a novel, the stories that these women (and a couple of men) shared really have to be experienced first hand either in person or in their books. For me the highlight of the weekend was the dynamic duo of Patsy Clairmont and Andy Andrews.<br />
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<b><u><a href="http://patsyclairmont.com/">Patsy Clairmont</a></u></b></div>
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The minute Patsy opened her mouth Friday morning, I dove for my notebook to try and record every word of wisdom she dispelled. In fact, I was so eager that I started writing in my brand new notebook upside down. Somehow, in light of Patsy's eccentric personality and side splitting humour, it seems appropriate that I have six pages of upside down notes.<br />
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<i><u>Some Quotes from the Weekend:</u></i><br />
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"The way we act and react to life is being noted by people for consistencies with what we proclaim. Is your life registering in the hearts of people?"<br />
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"In a multitude of words their is sin. If you say too much, you are bound to say something you will regret."<br />
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"God has designed us with a will that is stronger than our emotions. Our emotions don't have to bully us around; chose to behave in a way different from you feel instead of giving in to little girl hormonal tiffs. If you stir an emotion it can take on added dynamics."<br />
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"God wants to enlarge our lives so that we don't remain small petty women."<br />
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"Sarcasm is anger that went underground and back up in a clown suit."<br />
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"Guard you mind with the Word-it is like Spanx for your brain."<br />
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<b><u><a href="http://www.andyandrews.com/">Andy Andrews</a></u></b></div>
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Andy makes a triple shot of espresso look as mellow as chamomile tea. He ran here, there and everywhere while speaking which kept the audience engaged and anticipating what segue he would take next. He is like a spider who is spinning a complicated web around you, but until you step back you can't fully appreciate the masterpiece he created. Andy is masterful storyteller that brings together life, history, humour, and energy.<br />
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<i><u>Some Quotes from the Weekend</u></i></div>
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"We tell our children they can be and do anything, but we tell adults to have more realistic goals and not get their hopes too high."</div>
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"We are either in a crisis, headed out of a crisis, or on our way to a crisis."</div>
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"People go from 'almost' to 'almost' all their lives and never quite hit the target that God wants because they worry about crisis."</div>
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"God wants to bless, so give Him something to bless. He provides food for the birds, but he doesn't throw the worms in the nest. It is a partnership, a relationship."</div>
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"Fear is a misuse of the creative imagination that God has given you." </div>
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"God guides our path but doesn't force us to take the steps. He expects us to be active participants and step forward in faith along the path that He has pre-determined."</div>
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"The Butterfly Effect works with humans as well. Everything you do matters to all of us for all time. You don't know which decision you make or action you take will set of a chain reaction that will irrevocably affect history." </div>
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All of the other speakers and performers (Lisa Welchel, Brenda Warner, Sandi Patty, Marilyn Meberg, Mandisa and Selah) had profound stories of survival and God's grace and provision that often left me on the verge of a tear filled breakdown. Their stories have touched my heart and reminded me that life is full of changing seasons, but the one constant amidst it all is God. I encourage you to experience their stories for yourself because they will minister your heart no matter what season of life you are in. </div>
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A heartfelt thank you to Booksneeze, Thomas Nelson, and Women of Faith for giving me this amazing opportunity. I will definitely be back! </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">**Disclaimer: Women of Faith tickets provided by BookSneeze**</span><br />
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<img align="left" src="http://i1189.photobucket.com/albums/z428/perfectlyimperfectbb/woessignature.jpg" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px;" />Lydiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00955620317099864194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956049921912518991.post-65326141850540424282011-10-28T00:12:00.000-04:002011-11-05T18:13:27.050-04:00Women of Faith Over The Top<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>First posted here: <a href="http://overweight-bookshelf.blogspot.com/2011/10/women-of-faith-is-going-to-be-over-top.html">The Overweight Bookshelf</a></i><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;">This evening I am coming to you from a marble hotel lobby that is blaring obnoxious music while I sit in a leather arm chair beside an unlit fireplace...and I couldn't be more content. The weekend I have been looking forward to since June has finally arrived. Tomorrow morning the </span><a href="http://www.womenoffaith.com/overthetop/" style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none;">Women of Faith</a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px; text-align: justify;"> conference makes their stop in Seattle to inspire, encourage, entertain, and teach. I packed a brand new notebook just waiting to be filled with knowledge and a pen full of ink that will be furiously scratching across the pages.</span></span></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="284" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/1RGEPITZwSQ" width="500"></iframe><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;">I am entering a new and unforeseen season in my life and everything since June has been pushing me towards this moment. Looking back I am in awe of how perfectly God aligned everything to make this weekend possible (and necessary!). I promised God and myself that I would listen with my heart and receive the great words that will be brought forth. I can't wait to share with you all the experience of this weekend. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #676767; font-family: 'Cherry Cream Soda'; font-size: x-small; font-style: italic; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<i style="background-color: white; color: #676767; font-family: 'Cherry Cream Soda'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">**Disclosure: Event tickets provided by Women of Faith via Book Sneeze**</i><br />
<img align="left" src="http://i1189.photobucket.com/albums/z428/perfectlyimperfectbb/woessignature.jpg" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px;" />Lydiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00955620317099864194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956049921912518991.post-11264714419629359262011-09-26T00:00:00.000-04:002011-09-27T21:22:00.763-04:00Eat and Be Merry in Montreal<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>BLOGGING FAIL! Don't you hate when you log into your account to realize that a post was left in Drafts and never published? Yea, me too. So accompany me on a blast from summer past... </b><br />
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<i>You don't know what you have until it's gone.</i> I had 10 days in Montreal see, do, and eat the things I love. In Montreal a lot of what you do is centered around food and eating with friends and family. This city personifies "Eat and be merry."</div>
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<li>Watching my 80+ year old grandfathers wrestle in the kitchen. They aren't allowed to sit beside each other at family functions. </li>
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4. Taking a solo nostalgic walk from my alma mater to Vieux Montreal where I met my parents for a stroll at dusk.</div>
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5. Chocolate decadence at<a href="http://julietteetchocolat.com/"> <i>Juliette et Chocolat. </i></a></div>
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5. My grandfather's pride and joy (aside from us of course) is his garden. He guards his garden like a sentry or an angel posted at the gates of the Garden of Eden-just him, his bible, and the bell he rings at birds and squirrels. No one so much as looks at his garden without an interrogation fueled by conspiracy theories that the neighbors are trying to steal his secrets.</div>
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6. Crossing the Mercier Bridge with my best friend. It went a little like this:<br />
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<b>Me:</b> Why are you rolling down the windows?<br />
<b>Melissa:</b> In case we plunge through this patch-work that they call a bridge. We can bale out and swim...Then again, the fall will probably kill us.<br />
<b>Me: </b>Thank you Miss Optimism.<br />
<b>Melissa: </b>Start praying. Out loud. Maybe we will have a chance<br />
<i>30 seconds later...</i><br />
<b>Melissa:</b> I don't hear you praying! Are you praying?!<br />
<b>Me: </b>Why is the pavement concaved?! I can't look!<br />
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7. Reunion of my friendship trifecta. Just Melissa, Jess, and I sitting on the back porch and talking about everything and anything : the first year of marriage (them), the highs and lows of single life (me), teaching (us), and everything else that we could think off. In Melissa's words "The sign of true friendship is the ability to be apart for a long time and pick up right where you left off as if nothing has changed." I love these girls.</div>
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8. If you haven't had a chocolatine aux amandes, you have not lived. I couldn't prohibit myself from this one indulgence so a stop at my favourite cafe, <a href="http://oliveetgourmando.com/">Olive et Gourmando</a>, was unavoidable. Buttery, flakey, crunchy goodness on the outside; warm, chocolate and nutty soft goodness on the inside. </div>
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Lydiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00955620317099864194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956049921912518991.post-14584920838091292332011-08-10T16:22:00.003-04:002011-08-10T16:26:54.985-04:00Honey, I'm Home!<div style="text-align: justify;">My bags were packed and I was giddy with excitement. I was going home for 10 days! The only person who knew I was coming was my best friend Melissa. My family has a twisted hobby of seeing who can surprise another person the most with surprise visits. So far Rebekah, my sister, had first place when she flew to Montreal in the dead of night and showed up on my doorstep in spite of a recent snow storm. I was ready to claim my prize by surprising both sets of grandparents, who just happen to live across the street from one another. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Flying with dad has its perks. He travels so often for work that we all got upgraded to business class which was going to make this 5.5 hour flight much more comfortable. Well, it was supposed to.<br />
<br />
4.5 hours, one scalding wet towelette (why do they do that?!), and a 3 course meal later, I was starting to get antsy. Suddenly the seat belt light flashed not once, not twice, but FOUR times. Then the plane jerked a little to the right. And then <i>a lot</i> to the left. And then it dropped a couple hundred feet that left my brain plastered to the back of my skull.<br />
<br />
<b>Flight Attendant: </b>Ladies and gentleman, the captain has turned on the seat belt light. Please return to your seats and immediately and stow all personal belongings. We will be experiencing some turbulence due to extreme weather in the area.<br />
<br />
Extreme weather. Not storms or wind. <i>Extreme </i>weather. Seriously, how bad could it be? The French business man seated beside me apparently was thinking the same thing because he decided to lift the shade on our window. And then let loose a string of French expletives all related to the Church.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw6-avQBePt5sAbMoeosB2bi9AgVrn3-6NTw_cVSbu-le-Bbv2ZIolMKMK3bEBhytJ9j9LMtY4Wbigo-eRgx5xQFaHGrKXX6vh1HFtNzeTGzcqGsycX2Yb_VVTds1FmD52arOqBBU3B4E/s1600/plane_lightning.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw6-avQBePt5sAbMoeosB2bi9AgVrn3-6NTw_cVSbu-le-Bbv2ZIolMKMK3bEBhytJ9j9LMtY4Wbigo-eRgx5xQFaHGrKXX6vh1HFtNzeTGzcqGsycX2Yb_VVTds1FmD52arOqBBU3B4E/s1600/plane_lightning.jpg" /></a></div>We were surrounded by strobe lights of fork lightening in a pinkish-green tinged sky. <i>You know God, I am all for senses of humour. But when I said I wanted to go back to Montreal, I didn't mean be blown to smithereens 30,000 feet above it. I meant actually foot-still attached to body-step on the ground back in Montreal. </i>After a couple more altitude drops that killed a few thousand brain cells, circling the airport a half dozen times and being shaken like a Polaroid picture, we finally landed.<br />
<br />
We raced down to baggage claim to stake a prime spot along the snake-like baggage carousel and waited. And waited, and waited, and waited.<br />
<br />
<b>Crackling Voice: </b>Ladies and gentlemen, due to a red alert outside, we are unable to unload baggage from all incoming flights. We appreciate your patients.<br />
<br />
Almost two hours later we had our bags, rental car and were on the road. It was 11:30pm and I feared my surprise arrival would have lost some of its zing, but I just wanted to get home. Which turned me into a backseat driver.<br />
<br />
<b>Me: </b>Dad, don't take l'Acadie-it floods and there is going to be traffic because of construction. Take the service roads. There, that exit. Okay, now take rue Jarry. You have to turn left.<br />
<br />
<b>Dad:</b> Who has been alive longer? Me. Who has driven in this city longer? Me.<br />
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<b>Me:</b> I love you...now turn left. </div><br />
At exactly 11:50 our car came peeling around the corner of my street, my seatbelt undone and door half open. I didn't even wait for the car to come to a complete stop before I sprinted down the sidewalk, up the stairs and into the arms of my shocked Nonno.<br />
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<b>Nonno:</b> Teresa! Teresa! Subito! È Lydia. <br />
<b>Nonna:</b> Ahhh!!! Che bella sorpresa! <i>(Tranlation: What a beautiful surprise)</i><br />
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After a few more rounds of hugs and kisses, my Nonna takes my face in her hands and says...<br />
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<b>Nonna:</b> I thought for sure he was going to surprise us by bringing Matthew.<br />
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Yea, love you too Nonna.<br />
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<b>Nonno:</b> O! È mezzanotte! Buono Compleanno! <i>(Translation: Zip it! It's midnight! Happy Birthday!)</i><br />
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With promises to return in the morning, we ran across the street to surprise the second set of Nonna and Nonno, dumped our bags and fell like bricks into bed.<br />
<img align="left" src="http://i1189.photobucket.com/albums/z428/perfectlyimperfectbb/woessignature.jpg" style="border: 0;" /> Lydiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00955620317099864194noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956049921912518991.post-23066621763945113932011-08-10T16:22:00.000-04:002011-08-10T16:22:13.733-04:00Montréal, je t'aime<div style="text-align: justify;">This past year has been a difficult adjustment for me since moving back to Vancouver. I was born in Montreal, moved to Vancouver at a young age, then moved back to Montreal the summer of my 18th birthday for university with the intention of never leaving. Fast forward 5 years and me making an impromptu decision to move back to Vancouver to be with my parents and my siblings. A year later and I am still in awe of the work that God did in my heart to get me back on the West Coast. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Montreal has always felt like home. It will always <i>be </i>home...just not where I live. Yes, that was the sound of my heart breaking, but God and I have had this conversation multiple times over the past year, and I know that Vancouver is where I need to be. For better, for worse.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghrysRdmHfefilnzQMDyDAq7mHNQYB5VG_sxCJ6ZrM9Bh95WX_ft5rNgAJn9yfsInxiQmw-e6zBXV68UL7sBsq8oXOB6tsd_vwqCEC08KwVUQ_-fa-w1ZzrXFFSCNCX780YtOF_ZWngNU/s1600/montreal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghrysRdmHfefilnzQMDyDAq7mHNQYB5VG_sxCJ6ZrM9Bh95WX_ft5rNgAJn9yfsInxiQmw-e6zBXV68UL7sBsq8oXOB6tsd_vwqCEC08KwVUQ_-fa-w1ZzrXFFSCNCX780YtOF_ZWngNU/s400/montreal.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I have been driving my parents and siblings crazy with my homesickness for the city of my heart. Every day I bemoaned "<i>I wish Vancouver had [insert Montreal landmark/restaurant/activity here].</i>" The one year anniversary of the big move came and went, as did the opportunity to back to visit. My teaching contract ended June 30th so I couldn't afford the flight across the country. Which broke my heart because I didn't know when I would have the chance to go back. Until....</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Picture It: </b>July 19, 2011. I am in the kitchen washing the sink talking to mom who has just returned home from work. Dad comes thundering down the stairs.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Dad:</b> I have to go to Montreal on Thursday. Mom is coming with me. Do you want to come for your birthday?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Me:</b> That's a cruel joke. Not funny dad. (scrubbing a little harder than needed)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Dad:</b> I'm serious! I'm trying to book the tickets but there aren't many seats left. Do you want to come?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Me:</b> DAD! That is NOT FUNNY! </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Dad:</b> (smirking) I'M NOT JOKING!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Mom:</b> Isaia! That is not how you tell her her birthday surprise!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Me:</b> (now crying) You're serious?! YES!!!!! YES! YES! YES! YES! Can I stay for 10 days?<br />
<b>Dad: </b>Great! We leave the day after tomorrow. Start packing. </div><img align="left" src="http://i1189.photobucket.com/albums/z428/perfectlyimperfectbb/woessignature.jpg" style="border: 0;" /> Lydiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00955620317099864194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956049921912518991.post-50136797962515784102011-07-20T20:23:00.002-04:002011-07-20T20:27:57.611-04:00Family Vacation Part 7: Caves, Colonial Towns, and a Travelling Zoo<div style="text-align: justify;">Chichen Itza was checked off my bucket list and we were all ready to get out of the heat and down in the caves. There are hundreds of rivers running beneath the ground in magnificent caves and it was the perfect pit stop after sweating buckets at the ruins. </div><br />
<b>Matthew:</b> Hey! Look at the bats!<br />
<b>Rebekah:</b> [ducks and grabs her head] Where?! Is it on me?<br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;">There is only so much you can do in a cave after getting over the initial sense of wonder. On to the next stop: Vallalodid. We had 30 minutes to power through this small colonial town before heading back to the resort and I was determined to make every second count. </div><br />
<b>Me: </b>Matty, what's in those trucks that everyone is honking at?<br />
<b>Matthew: </b>Run! It's a zoo on wheels! I want pictures.<br />
<br />
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The architecture of this small town was fascinating-a hyrbid of Spanish colonialism and crumbling concrete facades built upon stones from the Mayan ruins.<br />
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It was an exhausting day but completely worth it. The rest of the vacation went a little like this: wake up, eat, read at the beach, eat, lounge at the pool, eat, sleep, repeat. In other words: perfect.<br />
<img align="left" src="http://i1189.photobucket.com/albums/z428/perfectlyimperfectbb/woessignature.jpg" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px;" />Lydiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00955620317099864194noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956049921912518991.post-82945597382633395152011-07-20T19:43:00.002-04:002011-07-20T20:28:39.620-04:00Family Vacation Part 6: It's Called Chichen Itza, Not Chicken Pizza<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzyab9-wXkebqlGgRt3wAllMST59X_t_0cLOOtOtuFi2g1ZO3wuE3wwjWNuEwWundUcXqKrf6CDIwQPGPJPMbYLrnUUMv7RGw-WLZEIcLWpInRQpEVCqyM6qzt2tRogavi-aTfDkV3kTs/s1600/IMG_8728.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzyab9-wXkebqlGgRt3wAllMST59X_t_0cLOOtOtuFi2g1ZO3wuE3wwjWNuEwWundUcXqKrf6CDIwQPGPJPMbYLrnUUMv7RGw-WLZEIcLWpInRQpEVCqyM6qzt2tRogavi-aTfDkV3kTs/s400/IMG_8728.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">I don't usually like going to the same place twice unless I am going to do something completely different the second time around. The main attraction for this trip was Chichen Itza (one of the new 7 Wonders of the World) and the colonial town of Valladolid. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The day could not have been more perfect. Matty intentionally picked the day that it was supposed to rain because Chichen Itza is notorious for dangerous heat. Even with the overcast skies and intermittent showers, the heat was oppressive in spite of our guide calling it "A good day."<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The first leg of our journey took us through the extremely impoverished Mayan villages of the Yucatan jungle. Children playing barefoot in the rain puddles and washing beneath the stream of water flowing down the thatched roofs, women grilling meat on open fires in front of dilapidated shacks, crumbling prison walls surrounded by kiosks selling hammocks made by the prisoners-this was the landscape that flew past the van window for an hour. Our guide said that the Mayan people living in this area have maintained the lifestyle of their ancestors and they sell handmade artisan crafts in order to survive. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0q7JtkkLIFLYrT57EDabZo9vgh2W20CMUBWHHA6zISHzoaW9S5FJBjPFJFUrAWhVtOFReyh2yGN60pgQ5b1PmPQhyphenhyphenm2uam1mK6hiUJ77CgJZxf-dF4jsvZqWctP-LRQnd4KAyXM88p3k/s1600/6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0q7JtkkLIFLYrT57EDabZo9vgh2W20CMUBWHHA6zISHzoaW9S5FJBjPFJFUrAWhVtOFReyh2yGN60pgQ5b1PmPQhyphenhyphenm2uam1mK6hiUJ77CgJZxf-dF4jsvZqWctP-LRQnd4KAyXM88p3k/s320/6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNTjPfmaQlBGdieZWT7eyLmSvoZdu6Wtb8HbCYEn-sPG064ep6odpgm-HJLuwaZtaZUjNIr_kgWk4dttvMLLyWb9MwxWus4CacpdQwXtQXf8bjGyn3wS0aZRXNzuuAtn72DdGiR4CzWK8/s1600/8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNTjPfmaQlBGdieZWT7eyLmSvoZdu6Wtb8HbCYEn-sPG064ep6odpgm-HJLuwaZtaZUjNIr_kgWk4dttvMLLyWb9MwxWus4CacpdQwXtQXf8bjGyn3wS0aZRXNzuuAtn72DdGiR4CzWK8/s320/8.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj94MesIn8sFY7E0rB8BTIePh_SBM2Y3OrYc-1SgzTyGx2PqIyueJVm9vBLbuYme_X0dHNw1408jbmKg0QIvqxUv2VwSNMnMwJensa3yg0tpSSqv3-YJBpe4dJ2c2InZVbys6bCidaQ4RQ/s1600/25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj94MesIn8sFY7E0rB8BTIePh_SBM2Y3OrYc-1SgzTyGx2PqIyueJVm9vBLbuYme_X0dHNw1408jbmKg0QIvqxUv2VwSNMnMwJensa3yg0tpSSqv3-YJBpe4dJ2c2InZVbys6bCidaQ4RQ/s320/25.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx7uGNsxXNxlOITwAe_ozeLyrE0vn1RedyNvrlpNqxC6f-n3-WhoEwd_4vccOKsvRXzx142Oev2F2wKzX6zoNI_VWFyVzvfzK9OyncAv2RE5fTB6_He56ndMuU8VMc404oTkSisGN4KV4/s1600/28.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx7uGNsxXNxlOITwAe_ozeLyrE0vn1RedyNvrlpNqxC6f-n3-WhoEwd_4vccOKsvRXzx142Oev2F2wKzX6zoNI_VWFyVzvfzK9OyncAv2RE5fTB6_He56ndMuU8VMc404oTkSisGN4KV4/s320/28.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-pSG2-qUfPf7taENbS-lHQC94mxCmIpJOjSz9h77VI8BtD4JA-0R3fO-EWxDPJeQanROmq5NbMM57UTh2JpfoFMqKTIKkBIR3WonbdOj9l81J_YPtT2X6NPzY8SkJAOljiRGexLM_c-o/s1600/44.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-pSG2-qUfPf7taENbS-lHQC94mxCmIpJOjSz9h77VI8BtD4JA-0R3fO-EWxDPJeQanROmq5NbMM57UTh2JpfoFMqKTIKkBIR3WonbdOj9l81J_YPtT2X6NPzY8SkJAOljiRGexLM_c-o/s320/44.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilr1w2Pk6JWhhjkczi7mJB3fI3V8iCZGjouyDkyE1oxBToJSLj-iq_S8FzjqRGbBqjLAc0GMEVmA2ttEjkJTu8Gs1Z8Gx2IRLm6MqbAWzXzOM10KOtW8_yz9AQqGVfsO1tqTHeFY9fj9k/s1600/53.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; 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margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidTZm1jdYNBIWtcGc5DJTNl-k1geZdT6JxcyDUCvyVJ797WIGftP9JFr18gLEVzb7HxHLvJgUf_RWlblUyHZWMRb1u1IHtuVuhZV0Rg4JvVNJ5K9dIWM2N42WLN34xiEOjydX3XhmZ8y8/s320/62.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">Chichen Itza (which our hysterical guide claimed is sometimes called Chicken Pizza by the less than proficient Spanish speakers), is a wonder to behold. The site is alive with historical richness, architectural and engineering genius...and 72 kinds of snakes.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyOASB6GkvP4ZPE-SfixacGN1cTgyHg_lsltJ5gAUZYBCGjQatjD1tCm_wlTkHI6iI-ZkSZapez8hrxCT4UaB35NfdgLF0QeFbgFq-cXZMyqomPVT-Gje1SF27n3-GUFXC4mbv7UlyBjY/s1600/IMG_8659.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyOASB6GkvP4ZPE-SfixacGN1cTgyHg_lsltJ5gAUZYBCGjQatjD1tCm_wlTkHI6iI-ZkSZapez8hrxCT4UaB35NfdgLF0QeFbgFq-cXZMyqomPVT-Gje1SF27n3-GUFXC4mbv7UlyBjY/s320/IMG_8659.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7nnvoBK8kzEiNW2Hq0eYmgEeNpVOgFpjSO3340MtZJfuXLjL6n_jbdt6LcGYf85xKF1acRT01kaIUofSYrcqOKX9AFD0BZKfyi4etJWpHLHkduqjAZVarJ5X0w0soOqa4IBWycqv1IfA/s1600/IMG_8692.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7nnvoBK8kzEiNW2Hq0eYmgEeNpVOgFpjSO3340MtZJfuXLjL6n_jbdt6LcGYf85xKF1acRT01kaIUofSYrcqOKX9AFD0BZKfyi4etJWpHLHkduqjAZVarJ5X0w0soOqa4IBWycqv1IfA/s320/IMG_8692.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDTUUmYPwspVdW_kck5dBDFGuHex8raGIwhryflyo03sZJXp-o1GDpO69GYlTop6gglEfto3DjC0STop_KmG7OuWk8qwq7dF613vpUnrix0RMAWIwKKteU3L7Nj-h5jY9nbgACh1Y-6VI/s1600/IMG_8777.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDTUUmYPwspVdW_kck5dBDFGuHex8raGIwhryflyo03sZJXp-o1GDpO69GYlTop6gglEfto3DjC0STop_KmG7OuWk8qwq7dF613vpUnrix0RMAWIwKKteU3L7Nj-h5jY9nbgACh1Y-6VI/s320/IMG_8777.JPG" width="320" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The Mayan people set up a market in the shade of the trees surrounding the historical site to sell hand carvings that sound like a roaring jaguar when you blow into them. Every 30 seconds the air was pierced with someone screeching like the enraged cat. My mom marched right up to a vendor who was screeching in her ear...and she hissed at him. With hand claws and all. </div><br />
<b>Rebekah: </b>Oh gosh! Walk away! Faster, faster. Don't be seen with them. How are we related to these people?<br />
<br />
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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEIZwwo8BsvP525DjsKLVccMbd2CikSORhrAWQo2qtVH8B6ZoxW_xENfGpyOOKIHEOKxCh4dvILnq8oHSkmOgd7rY5WXimgou_z82qxeDVZqOwqRXxTYGw1xsM0jF7ytAc3wWk-qneTuE/s1600/IMG_8765.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEIZwwo8BsvP525DjsKLVccMbd2CikSORhrAWQo2qtVH8B6ZoxW_xENfGpyOOKIHEOKxCh4dvILnq8oHSkmOgd7rY5WXimgou_z82qxeDVZqOwqRXxTYGw1xsM0jF7ytAc3wWk-qneTuE/s400/IMG_8765.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMu0pjeBcS1R7Quz2mhR5BWrYvQag4SqFm6WKqcLNRm-8ozvWv0uzUvZ8OzfkXNfd6lPlIHbmMVooZWIyxRLERK09cITTf64IWyo6ty6sBFybcE6ZMW-ySSk56854kozac8KW1G9MmsLE/s1600/IMG_8790.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMu0pjeBcS1R7Quz2mhR5BWrYvQag4SqFm6WKqcLNRm-8ozvWv0uzUvZ8OzfkXNfd6lPlIHbmMVooZWIyxRLERK09cITTf64IWyo6ty6sBFybcE6ZMW-ySSk56854kozac8KW1G9MmsLE/s400/IMG_8790.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>filming a segment for Matty's vlog</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl_CsrBYZlGzt90kqxgilQEC7kdi7nVuAkHqrxV-l9WSCVR5VVj6OSbOGPRMG9efsdC5xN0-a54491j3H51CK7p8E4CbKgEHi5v0Rs5XdqEtcHhgjjrmk9qMlUHuQsVS36tSRFZwYz2KI/s1600/IMG_8796.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl_CsrBYZlGzt90kqxgilQEC7kdi7nVuAkHqrxV-l9WSCVR5VVj6OSbOGPRMG9efsdC5xN0-a54491j3H51CK7p8E4CbKgEHi5v0Rs5XdqEtcHhgjjrmk9qMlUHuQsVS36tSRFZwYz2KI/s400/IMG_8796.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><img align="left" src="http://i1189.photobucket.com/albums/z428/perfectlyimperfectbb/woessignature.jpg" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px;" />Lydiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00955620317099864194noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956049921912518991.post-63062707392932357422011-07-20T18:41:00.002-04:002011-07-20T20:44:12.211-04:00Family Vacation Part 5: Mexico, Land of Contrast<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSLiHj99V9DobmbARDmdyFXMOI2AELbHQXeDEjMeWsvh8_SOFfgMB3_Oeun7rMar4dRJgzFSR9mWaKpTrefNer6U0a0cxZOn3ryAQ9Z4DkY6w5DHLsj6-na6Gt5WiaE2_5PS9XvrHUiAo/s1600/IMG_8570.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSLiHj99V9DobmbARDmdyFXMOI2AELbHQXeDEjMeWsvh8_SOFfgMB3_Oeun7rMar4dRJgzFSR9mWaKpTrefNer6U0a0cxZOn3ryAQ9Z4DkY6w5DHLsj6-na6Gt5WiaE2_5PS9XvrHUiAo/s320/IMG_8570.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">"I'm melting like a snow cone in Phoenix." <i>Mrs Doubtfire </i>has provided me with a wealth of quotes for life. By the third day I really felt like I was melting like a snow cone in Phoenix and needed a respite from the beach. We decided to take a short excursion into the closest town, Playa del Carmen for a little cultural immersion. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRAhZwGZ1KiHWGww6zuyJvxiZI4rl0wvQlMUwKdJXvrrETIVMQ287-QBfZkhjajn7o7E35GsmSWVUKdqFGqHo0Oxwi2sQ13lRr3fY5ShL2cWoqXLOtQZCrupziayuLPrpYJ21shdeM8IU/s1600/IMG_8533.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRAhZwGZ1KiHWGww6zuyJvxiZI4rl0wvQlMUwKdJXvrrETIVMQ287-QBfZkhjajn7o7E35GsmSWVUKdqFGqHo0Oxwi2sQ13lRr3fY5ShL2cWoqXLOtQZCrupziayuLPrpYJ21shdeM8IU/s400/IMG_8533.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">As the short shuttle navigated through the congested streets I was in awe of the contrasts that surrounded me. Opulent resort entrances set beside dilapidated roadside stands and graffitied buildings. As we drove into town, the poverty became more visible as the buildings got brighter. The poorer the area, the more colourful the walls. My eyes couldn't take in my surroundings fast enough as every turn of the corner brought something new and fascinating. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwhhBH0RC1IZIzOW33Ni3GwkZE228FnL-lCThhMhkxl77lBIpo8-qqSW2aMTgqy6WTLjZxXmjmurHVFz9L40JlIBMyA0FB_Ccd6JFbkeVnftz3uy-NNG1Dmok1LqzCaffYbll2QvKjt2Q/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwhhBH0RC1IZIzOW33Ni3GwkZE228FnL-lCThhMhkxl77lBIpo8-qqSW2aMTgqy6WTLjZxXmjmurHVFz9L40JlIBMyA0FB_Ccd6JFbkeVnftz3uy-NNG1Dmok1LqzCaffYbll2QvKjt2Q/s400/3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGJlqkiD2GbROB2HnTq-dzGOtAZDD6-9JZ8Sm2DzyGzbchITnyQ4RsgRgKMg7H7YJhZC6Kmi_ZpT8ZaBg-s1Fs_2ripUU8nR4GyXG1jv1lSgd9rLiJ__CZFLFn-FKASoiv4dsIIbu-4Dk/s1600/IMG_8571.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGJlqkiD2GbROB2HnTq-dzGOtAZDD6-9JZ8Sm2DzyGzbchITnyQ4RsgRgKMg7H7YJhZC6Kmi_ZpT8ZaBg-s1Fs_2ripUU8nR4GyXG1jv1lSgd9rLiJ__CZFLFn-FKASoiv4dsIIbu-4Dk/s400/IMG_8571.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The shuttle dropped as off at the tourist trap of the town, otherwise known as 5th avenue. Block upon block of shops, small restaurants, excursion peddlers and scammers. You couldn't take three steps without someone screaming at you "Senorita, come into me store," "Can I talk to you? Come here, I want to show you something," and all derivatives. Men dressed in traditional Mayan garb encouraged you take pictures of them-but only if you paid. </div><br />
<b>Man:</b> Senor, you come take a picture with me. Only 500 pesos.<br />
<b>Dad: </b>Do you know who I am? You should be paying me.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">That stopped them from ever asking again. When we didn't respond to English they started calling out in French, German, Italian and Spanish. This is not what I had in mind when I suggested we experience the real Mexico. We forged on ignoring the calls and hand gestures, even though I felt guilty for being rude. There was so much to see and I wasn't going to be deterred. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKbZWbKTJIpQcQ_vhHlRi0lkjLNP2TUnne49uPJ4Rp_N8tzHmrxVGSVIpMvSc5ifnBb0st8AisET45Kmx-y4OkrmwUKyhTm8oa1m5yyjiq-QCrWZBdcuHFS1PF4Y_m1OVrkisPw_Ol8Gs/s1600/IMG_8513.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKbZWbKTJIpQcQ_vhHlRi0lkjLNP2TUnne49uPJ4Rp_N8tzHmrxVGSVIpMvSc5ifnBb0st8AisET45Kmx-y4OkrmwUKyhTm8oa1m5yyjiq-QCrWZBdcuHFS1PF4Y_m1OVrkisPw_Ol8Gs/s320/IMG_8513.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkZF6czfSgsUb_c0pIn-eokLoyiMGQPKXJ4HkpRy6Y2fyKjpnbX4W-MM9rmYkY2yAFx-3q10x46fgs5az41TvsYek-NclMhIuDNTdXTL2A-RBwSWKSypJ2aI0GVSghlg4CFx6BkU4nCRk/s1600/IMG_8515.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; 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margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOPdEB9KR3CykXcLEU7RZwRyhP8X4DTaJ-JDZqtPow9Ng1pJhO8am-NlAUfj9MoVNB4ThAfPePw0T4LlwPhH2D2cx_nyVa3v9_t4oBOUaXUywTrrD2EeNGIGCRW2gPXQpau4WHmFkQwBc/s320/IMG_8553.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyJ1UY7s8M-yB9KECY_CpxYMYjqFZgfdIqlfRefNkJ8O1mwoMWgPccVZ9YZWw5s7UPQnolgZ9xD3sM0Ia9kKBi8M182CL81MRt3Vnqw_A1Uz7Um6dok6RXBXMWJ8mgm6pQBVH_lVjiLa0/s1600/IMG_8559.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyJ1UY7s8M-yB9KECY_CpxYMYjqFZgfdIqlfRefNkJ8O1mwoMWgPccVZ9YZWw5s7UPQnolgZ9xD3sM0Ia9kKBi8M182CL81MRt3Vnqw_A1Uz7Um6dok6RXBXMWJ8mgm6pQBVH_lVjiLa0/s320/IMG_8559.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj4Vx9OEJYqaDls_uuW48ql7hW-PSfbbKHi4ucrCoGQBr9ANGu-Ux1yzjMlpbkpn5NZlfPNW2xmYGRe3V2Z12Bh-4pIj9Q7wl3SzA0TgEGEZjvgcVAAOSa3-H39t9QGNVBxAjVjG3rMmQ/s1600/IMG_8560.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj4Vx9OEJYqaDls_uuW48ql7hW-PSfbbKHi4ucrCoGQBr9ANGu-Ux1yzjMlpbkpn5NZlfPNW2xmYGRe3V2Z12Bh-4pIj9Q7wl3SzA0TgEGEZjvgcVAAOSa3-H39t9QGNVBxAjVjG3rMmQ/s320/IMG_8560.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguQRCJkFsag0EhMYgpOLtRQu4JdTy4cY7GDZ6ZJ4Ea1Na8MQkcYID3Rf8LeH0ju-IxZ35eZb3zMORc5oHEiq61CRVmfbOkTkFTujlGYptImdfMMTm-OitoAJfbtDKOoi9wFo7S6zsALrA/s1600/IMG_8569.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguQRCJkFsag0EhMYgpOLtRQu4JdTy4cY7GDZ6ZJ4Ea1Na8MQkcYID3Rf8LeH0ju-IxZ35eZb3zMORc5oHEiq61CRVmfbOkTkFTujlGYptImdfMMTm-OitoAJfbtDKOoi9wFo7S6zsALrA/s320/IMG_8569.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLB0FWQe5xQ4gwyQTgZSqzD_ZzyJSb-_nLGVCNURn61rzljWth4lDD9qaOP0Zgmg_26G6eDIquPd87HJvKPA7eavi4lQZbZXiY7trGALTvVG-kGY9q_TD7eV-24SLC21iLcz-Zt8bkXyI/s1600/IMG_8576.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLB0FWQe5xQ4gwyQTgZSqzD_ZzyJSb-_nLGVCNURn61rzljWth4lDD9qaOP0Zgmg_26G6eDIquPd87HJvKPA7eavi4lQZbZXiY7trGALTvVG-kGY9q_TD7eV-24SLC21iLcz-Zt8bkXyI/s320/IMG_8576.JPG" width="251" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh69Inzg9uDspvHiUWNEyZbLshZMhuxa9fFsCfrYc5ZMoqbjViDW50-yYcwwPLPGShFhz-7nqQvfhrIenLgoSJtdoeFb_8iCo8MnRMBy_QBxNIV2wibbhRZCmHsYzeFSpFpdYcNAA8qqLk/s1600/IMG_8579.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh69Inzg9uDspvHiUWNEyZbLshZMhuxa9fFsCfrYc5ZMoqbjViDW50-yYcwwPLPGShFhz-7nqQvfhrIenLgoSJtdoeFb_8iCo8MnRMBy_QBxNIV2wibbhRZCmHsYzeFSpFpdYcNAA8qqLk/s320/IMG_8579.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhucZnVsmfop_7k0U289PbwqIlNVURVvbdN1MLJriWgoofv4uzyIXT3BICBq7N6dMfvNNQ2A74ArHYH5X2zAjMFmQVOm3S4fFHp_zn-QfvWj16xBceGZhdpqokQmdpNDVcafYwtgSwlzpE/s1600/IMG_8586.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhucZnVsmfop_7k0U289PbwqIlNVURVvbdN1MLJriWgoofv4uzyIXT3BICBq7N6dMfvNNQ2A74ArHYH5X2zAjMFmQVOm3S4fFHp_zn-QfvWj16xBceGZhdpqokQmdpNDVcafYwtgSwlzpE/s320/IMG_8586.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAsNqw4kgZK1IrSyaMulvFd2m9a8WodApmC9XDI_IGvhpcGNliENcYq_HZr7BkhXbhg8KmKUupNfYgVwbNBUg-GvNXW_9cjlohBFd8kCk0Og787i3PvJUn2HymgXWBzJ0u9z5NOQ5CcM0/s1600/15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAsNqw4kgZK1IrSyaMulvFd2m9a8WodApmC9XDI_IGvhpcGNliENcYq_HZr7BkhXbhg8KmKUupNfYgVwbNBUg-GvNXW_9cjlohBFd8kCk0Og787i3PvJUn2HymgXWBzJ0u9z5NOQ5CcM0/s320/15.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Yes, that is a baby lion. The man behind the sign also had a monkey on his head, but Matty had to sneak the picture. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We came, we saw, we conquered. </div><img align="left" src="http://i1189.photobucket.com/albums/z428/perfectlyimperfectbb/woessignature.jpg" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px;" />Lydiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00955620317099864194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956049921912518991.post-70759361360735376912011-07-20T18:00:00.000-04:002011-07-20T18:00:20.056-04:00Family Vacation Part 4: By The Sea, By The Beautiful Sea<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNHa6I_vslLzmTNY4vdzNPzlsrf-BXTkUOF3DLT8MsInLiWKSEGJw2ssAgSZWetVD2QzNkVfEaqUcrlkVxlCBz-crjAl3xh4PiYEn7l8alGXw95ad_c9fmYAdN_eYrd_3gad9tlmgFUjo/s1600/IMG_8523.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNHa6I_vslLzmTNY4vdzNPzlsrf-BXTkUOF3DLT8MsInLiWKSEGJw2ssAgSZWetVD2QzNkVfEaqUcrlkVxlCBz-crjAl3xh4PiYEn7l8alGXw95ad_c9fmYAdN_eYrd_3gad9tlmgFUjo/s400/IMG_8523.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Last year I got over my phobia of the ocean. In the past, every time I stuck a toe in the water I would hear the soundtrack from <i>Jaws</i>. Many of the resorts on the Mayan Riviera are located around a coral reef, so the water stays waist deep for quite a length, and because the water is clear I didn't fear that anything was lurking beneath the depths. I loved seeing the tropical fish swim around my legs-no need for snorkel gear!</div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">Matty on the other hand, still had to face his water phobia. Child screams like a little girl when he feels anything bigger than a grain of sand brush his legs:</div><br />
<b>Matty:</b> Something is touching me!!<br />
<b>Me:</b> It's just a little fish.<br />
<b>Matty: </b>That is <i>not </i>little. Nemo is little. That looks like what you ate for dinner last night.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">So imagine my astonishment when he suggested we take advantage of the free kayaks. And when Rebekah agreed to come along-well you could have shoveled sand into my hanging mouth. Fast forward to all five of us strapping on questionable smelling and too large life jackets.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><b>Dad:</b> Matty is taking the single, Rebekah and mom are going together, and I am going with Lydia.<br />
<b>Me: </b>Um, maybe I should go with Rebekah. She and mom have never done this before.<br />
<b>Dad: </b>It's easy. They'll be fine.<br />
<br />
Famous last words.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">Matty took off like a pro heading into the great beyond. I clambered into the front of the kayak and waited for dad to get on. Bad move. He dunked me into the water by jumping on too eagerly. Second time was the charm and were on our way. Left, right, left, right. This was fun! Wind in your face, the exhilarating rise and fall of the waves, sun warming your shoulders! I took a quick glance over my shoulder and my heart sunk with dread. </div><br />
<b>Me: </b>Uh, dad. Mom and Rebekah haven't left the shore yet.<br />
<b>Dad: </b>They'll be fine.<br />
<i>...30 seconds later</i><br />
<b>Me:</b> Now they're moving in circles.<br />
<b>Dad:</b> Don't worry, they'll figure it out.<br />
<b>Me: </b>Maybe we should head their way and help.<br />
<b>Dad:</b> They have to learn. Kind of like when you throw a kid in the pool and hope for the best.<br />
...30 seconds later<br />
<b>Me:</b> DAD! They're heading straight for the wall around the pier!<br />
<b>Dad: </b>[sigh] Let's go save them...What is your sister doing?!!<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">Rebekah was jabbing at the water with her oar like she was sticking a toothpick in a cake while mom navigated them in circles drawing closer and closer to the pier. As we drew closer the roar of the waves was replaced by a roar of a different kind.</div><br />
<b>Rebekah: </b>We're going to crash!!<br />
<b>Mom: </b>Rebekah, paddle like me...left, right, left.<br />
<b>Rebekah: </b>I <i>am</i> paddling!<br />
<b>Mom:</b> I can't see what you're doing. Match up with me.<br />
<br />
They lightly tapped the wall around the pier. <br />
<br />
<b>Rebekah:</b> HELP!!<br />
<b>Me: </b>[screaming over a few 100 metres] Rebekah! STOP with the jabbing. Stroke left...NOT <i>MY </i>LEFT-<i>YOUR</i> LEFT!<br />
<b>Mom:</b> What is she doing?! I can't turn around.<br />
<b>Me:</b> Stroke right. Together. No. Count and stroke together. Ok, now left, right, left. I SAID LEFT!<br />
<br />
Back towards the wall they go.<br />
<br />
<b>Dad:</b> Rebekah, jabbing the water doesn't do anything. Stroke.<br />
<b>Rebekah: </b>I don't like this. We're going back to the shore.<br />
<br />
They started heading right for us, gaining speed to T-bone our Kayak.<br />
<br />
<b>Dad: </b>Oooh maaaan. Paddle out of their way.<br />
<b>Matthew:</b> WHAT IS GOING ON?!<br />
<b>Me:</b> We're heading back.<br />
<br />
I think we lasted a total of 7 minutes on the water. The irony of it---They were in waist deep water the whole time. After that little adventure reading peacefully on the beach sounded very good.<br />
<img align="left" src="http://i1189.photobucket.com/albums/z428/perfectlyimperfectbb/woessignature.jpg" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px;" />Lydiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00955620317099864194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956049921912518991.post-91540128969305529582011-07-20T16:43:00.007-04:002011-07-20T19:50:37.985-04:00Family Vacation Part 3: This Is How We Do It<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">I'm never gonna dance again. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">Guilty feet have got no rhythm! </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">Though it's easy to pretend, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">I know you're not a foooool...<br />
</span></span></i><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><b>Me:</b> Matty, TURN OFF YOUR ALARM before <i>Careless Whisper</i> becomes </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><i>Homicidal Whisper. </i></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><i><br />
</i>Day 1 of our vacation (I never count travel days) I was ready to go by 7:30. Unfortunately, my roommates did not feel the same so it took considerable hustling to get them out the door by 8:00. We were enjoying the balmy air of our air conditioned room, but then I opened the door. Suffocation. Who could think about eating with this kind of heat and humidity?</span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">Matty's most anticipated part of this trip was the food. The kid is like a bottomless pit. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><b>Matty: </b>Refried beans and chicken tacos at a breakfast buffet. Glory. This is going to be an epic week.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><b>Me:</b> You are sitting downwind at the beach. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixoIb5WyEHAfMHc2_WxHniWgEZZMFK0W5wlpaUNerPHf_ZISXjaocRgpORxKGgvfuVyxDcMBRgVBvH5mp09djrtATebctzeO9txLRlJGEdnCaillOWGxfKvTLtD29Va56Hjamvvh3MwqY/s1600/45.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixoIb5WyEHAfMHc2_WxHniWgEZZMFK0W5wlpaUNerPHf_ZISXjaocRgpORxKGgvfuVyxDcMBRgVBvH5mp09djrtATebctzeO9txLRlJGEdnCaillOWGxfKvTLtD29Va56Hjamvvh3MwqY/s320/45.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">Confession: I am not a huge beach person. I am a </span><i style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">do </i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">things, explore new places, immerse myself in a new culture kind of person. Not to mention that my skin hates the sun so I have to time my forays out from beneath an umbrella and into the ocean unless I want to look like a lobster. Somehow on the first day, in spite of having SPF 70+ </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">shellacked</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"> on every visible millimeter of skin every half hour, I managed to get the beginnings of a burn. Ok, time to be proactive. When we got back to the room I grabbed the green bottle of aloe vera and got to work.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><b><br />
Me: </b>This doesn't smell like aloe vera...wait, why is this lathering?...You have got to be ki----! STINK!!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><b>Rebekah: </b>What?! WHAT?! Are you okay? </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><b>Me: </b>Just peachy. I slathered myself with <i>bathing suit cleaner</i> instead of aloe vera. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><b>Rebekah:</b> [laughing like a hyena] Do you have sunstroke?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><b>Me:</b> The bottle was green! Aloe vera is green...Stop laughing. STOP. IT.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO6pwqvxFAIJ2cs905ZsicCCnIjwyANFeKSKM1lBBMilsOULQCVtlcopV6IDoWa8374w6_186O34cT01_RPyP8Goh1cmnkidzRsRGC4-4DG2KRZ4SfnIkS0t9v7LZAnz_Tl2bbbuywA50/s1600/IMG_8415.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO6pwqvxFAIJ2cs905ZsicCCnIjwyANFeKSKM1lBBMilsOULQCVtlcopV6IDoWa8374w6_186O34cT01_RPyP8Goh1cmnkidzRsRGC4-4DG2KRZ4SfnIkS0t9v7LZAnz_Tl2bbbuywA50/s400/IMG_8415.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbuX0Ww2sD2bEdzx8AkeiChmygbKWPtMHPsQdrPcei0I5qsaykZyiOyjnRXsOf7_mn9xPXSNm1vHiMBEgRFbkCMknQyTp89pR0qo3KE-zc1RohzUaytexz_b83fbm0XahWlqper97rOmA/s1600/IMG_8417.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbuX0Ww2sD2bEdzx8AkeiChmygbKWPtMHPsQdrPcei0I5qsaykZyiOyjnRXsOf7_mn9xPXSNm1vHiMBEgRFbkCMknQyTp89pR0qo3KE-zc1RohzUaytexz_b83fbm0XahWlqper97rOmA/s400/IMG_8417.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1ni_tN9JXY80KSmpmtTDiIGZy-HWBDgPbtsdy3yy0WsKVi84RWoBgMkR1CT5nSIqiY472bIyzgj-01MEQWgcHRL1RJTxt8ecNieHQa66iUkcTmS6-CEICOwFdHoDah2a45vfmtBfstHo/s1600/IMG_8442.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1ni_tN9JXY80KSmpmtTDiIGZy-HWBDgPbtsdy3yy0WsKVi84RWoBgMkR1CT5nSIqiY472bIyzgj-01MEQWgcHRL1RJTxt8ecNieHQa66iUkcTmS6-CEICOwFdHoDah2a45vfmtBfstHo/s320/IMG_8442.JPG" width="276" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrRxoKXoz0A4qp8sZspsfp-IpbKcHO-Q2nvuMZ298mVXjP2Ah_342BqSerXuozhEGpAVFL9u2bQ_KXxH_AytF6_0hjOvNZnjYUMXVq8KqhpdDznjQKEX82kQXdj9E0vjmRIsVkt34_VZE/s1600/IMG_8444.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrRxoKXoz0A4qp8sZspsfp-IpbKcHO-Q2nvuMZ298mVXjP2Ah_342BqSerXuozhEGpAVFL9u2bQ_KXxH_AytF6_0hjOvNZnjYUMXVq8KqhpdDznjQKEX82kQXdj9E0vjmRIsVkt34_VZE/s400/IMG_8444.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioQ5c80N05zDZS83ojHVrXg8mQSSfHBIEkoZX4863yN5D0-8T-6fygeKztT_JOXTJNO_10b_BFcSFCG2c0OF8GFcfjEmGMsrSxaofRLE43ak2VRT7waj8GlcRGSsGuktCKlFO9k08ZRKI/s1600/woessignature.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioQ5c80N05zDZS83ojHVrXg8mQSSfHBIEkoZX4863yN5D0-8T-6fygeKztT_JOXTJNO_10b_BFcSFCG2c0OF8GFcfjEmGMsrSxaofRLE43ak2VRT7waj8GlcRGSsGuktCKlFO9k08ZRKI/s1600/woessignature.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div>Lydiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00955620317099864194noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956049921912518991.post-149632539297325352011-07-20T01:37:00.001-04:002011-07-20T17:06:28.388-04:00Family Vacation Part 2: We're Just Getting Started<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWJOt4OT_xMtTvS3EIGUEVb5zM-5Qrq5hpFz0uj0j1HeVURO5Up0DrTaR3rFcoCxB-nJVXl1MZq4mnvDX6MKJwmWfrTEDZVk47gQ5xChYDpNNcuMKyPhlEAozIcVuWajGQmJJVJcYkPxY/s1600/269790_10150699557110468_750635467_19564539_3486533_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWJOt4OT_xMtTvS3EIGUEVb5zM-5Qrq5hpFz0uj0j1HeVURO5Up0DrTaR3rFcoCxB-nJVXl1MZq4mnvDX6MKJwmWfrTEDZVk47gQ5xChYDpNNcuMKyPhlEAozIcVuWajGQmJJVJcYkPxY/s320/269790_10150699557110468_750635467_19564539_3486533_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><b><br />
</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Rebekah pre-flight</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><b>Rebekah: </b>It's <i>My Big Fat Indian Wedding</i>.<br />
<b>Me:</b> Huh?<br />
<b>Rebekah:</b> On the plane. Half of the plane is an Indian wedding party.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">I like to people watch, especially at the airport. The story lover in me imagines fictionalized lives for the people passing by. I imagine where they are going, who they are meeting, if they are happy to be coming or sad to be going. So as a people watcher, I was one of the first to notice the panicked flight attendant running to the front of the plane and whispering with her colleague. Now call me a paranoid flyer, but that is something you never want to see when you are 30, 000 feet above God's Creation.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Flight Attendent: </b>Um, ladies and gentlemen, we have a medical emergency on board. If you are able to assist please press the call button.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Before I know it, they are ushering my dad back to the middle of the plane followed by an oxygen mask, defibrillator, and first aid kit. After 15 long minutes, flight attendants running back and forth, whispered conversations in the cockpit, and fear that we would have to turn back to Vancouver, dad finally sauntered back to his seat.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Me:</b> What happened?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Dad:</b> Someone in the wedding party decided the cure for their flying phobia was a sleeping pill and a shot of tequila. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The rest of the flight had almost every single person of the 70+ member wedding party thanking dad and the flight attendants bringing us free food and travel vouchers. We were off to an interesting start.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgotWg3LJz6PbWbdkWrRMcSrbCFvA0rjvDFDTYJqAuogclyW8ReY3EFh8N5kfoXCXLSU758kmGqj9u3uB-W30ASzcWlLDnn-4GXp3wH1rNL5Nd3hshmzzETDJDYiHG6exq2jl9I6uoaCzs/s1600/281841_10150699558580468_750635467_19564568_5067692_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgotWg3LJz6PbWbdkWrRMcSrbCFvA0rjvDFDTYJqAuogclyW8ReY3EFh8N5kfoXCXLSU758kmGqj9u3uB-W30ASzcWlLDnn-4GXp3wH1rNL5Nd3hshmzzETDJDYiHG6exq2jl9I6uoaCzs/s320/281841_10150699558580468_750635467_19564568_5067692_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">We landed in Cancun without any further excitement and breezed through customs thanks to my foresight in filling out everyone's customs forms on the flight. We plowed through the excursion peddlers and taxi scammers to find our driver and were elated to see that it was the same driver from last year. And just like last year he zeroed in on me:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><b>Driver:</b> Senorita, you are too white! You need mucho sun and tequila!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><b>Me:</b> I'll take the sun but you can keep the tequila.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">45 minutes later we arrived at our resort, checked in to our rooms that were a stones throw from the pool and beach, ate dinner, took a quick tour around, and then collapsed in to bed. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">After all, tomorrow is another day.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8X1tXUByoGKXlntjOMgOz6_rBKXja68fOccuqDOKpHzig3N8jlKAYeuhDWrVb6wqyV1z7QwFl-QlIBlZ2RYl8ek89aeNHX2tusR4ISfY_ntpit821NwzMMsIDEzU40_xfqiRScXJ4ZBs/s1600/woessignature.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8X1tXUByoGKXlntjOMgOz6_rBKXja68fOccuqDOKpHzig3N8jlKAYeuhDWrVb6wqyV1z7QwFl-QlIBlZ2RYl8ek89aeNHX2tusR4ISfY_ntpit821NwzMMsIDEzU40_xfqiRScXJ4ZBs/s1600/woessignature.jpg" /></a></div><br />
</div>Lydiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00955620317099864194noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956049921912518991.post-75779049935663423882011-07-20T01:09:00.002-04:002011-07-21T12:04:23.926-04:00Family Vacation Part 1: Are We There Yet?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0baY8DsNfOIIKUrRRjeIpGUz6dzKJIJGJmRiVWWLBaNLJ-LjnQMw7g4xpiBC2KKRXTiXhDK91NzVh1SwBAIKOKdH_l_q-wzHt-LviPSTsK_rJmMzL196wWVnERQ-rYLZwR5T1kfJQDBI/s1600/IMG_8562.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0baY8DsNfOIIKUrRRjeIpGUz6dzKJIJGJmRiVWWLBaNLJ-LjnQMw7g4xpiBC2KKRXTiXhDK91NzVh1SwBAIKOKdH_l_q-wzHt-LviPSTsK_rJmMzL196wWVnERQ-rYLZwR5T1kfJQDBI/s400/IMG_8562.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Family vacations constitute the majority of my most cherished childhood memories. When we were younger and could be loaded into the back of a Toyota Sienna at a moments notice for road trips along the Oregon and California coast, vacations seemed like a no-brainer. Clothes? Check. Sunscreen? Check. Travel games, music, and books? Check. Check. Check. Forget the map-dad never used a map and never made hotel reservations, yet we always got where we wanted to be and stayed in nice places.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Now that we-and by we I mean Rebekah, Matthew, and I-are adults, family vacations are an endangered species. In fact, the last whole family vacation we took was 10 years ago to Puerta Vallarta, so this was a long time in the making. Juggling the work schedules and church commitments of five people to come to a consensus took some doing, but we ultimately blocked off July 3-10 for a trip to the Mayan Riviera. My parents, Rebekah and I had been the previous year and, although we enjoyed ourselves immensely, Matthew's absence was a constant reminder that we needed a redo. Because when Matty is there, everything is different. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">This is where family vacations have changed the most. The packing process. And it is a process:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Me:</b> Rebekah, you do not need that many pairs of stilettos. This is a vacation, not a runway.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Dad: </b>Did everyone weigh their suitcases? Lydia, I don't want the agent telling you take out <u>one</u> flip flop because your suitcase is overweight again. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Mom: </b>How many dresses is too many?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Me:</b> Um, we're leaving tomorrow morning and Matty still hasn't packed...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Matty:</b> Dude, all I need is underwear, toothbrush, and swim trunks. I'm a guy.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Dad:</b> PASSPORTS! Give me your passports! </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Me:</b> No way. You are <i>not</i> touching my passport. Not after you "lost" it in the airport bathroom in London. In fact, hand me all the travel documents like a good boy. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Because our minivan days are long gone, we split into two cars: the parents in dad's car and the kids in Matty's. As is a ritual whenever the three of us are in a car together, all good taste in music is thrown out the window and out comes the playlist that call only be referred to as "The Low Points in Music History."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Matty:</b> Alriiiiight. And to kick off this early morning drive...wait for it...<i>Careless Whisper </i>by George Michael.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Rebekah:</b> Sweet Lord! Roll the windows back up! People are looking! </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Matty: </b>[singing along at the top of his lungs]</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Me:</b> Are these windows tinted?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I'm sad to admit that it only go worse from there. I am sadder to admit that we all sang along to Celine Dion's greatest hits for the next 20 minutes. Matty took the falsetto. But, alas, we finally reached the airport and stumbled towards check-in. Ok ok, <i>I </i>stumbled due to lack of caffeine and genetics. At the counter our bags passed through without a hitch...but then came the passports.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Agent: </b>There is a problem with Rebekah's passport. It expires in a month.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Dad:</b> Okaaaay....</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Agent:</b> Some countries require at least 3 months before a passport expires.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">[enter Rebekah hyperventilating and the Agent clicking away at the keys]</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>...2 minutes...</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>...3 minutes...</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Agent: </b>Oh good! Rebekah you are good to go!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Me: </b>Um, I'm not Rebekah.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Agent: </b>What! I just processed you and that bag as Rebekah.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Me: </b>Nope. Me pasty white. Rebekah bronze goddess standing behind me.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Agent:</b> Oh no! Um, I guess we just won't tell anyone.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I ask you now: what is the point of hideous passport pictures if they don't <i>look </i>at the pictures?! </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And so, one pit stop at Starbucks and Duty Free later and we were off. Or so we thought....</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>Stay tuned for Part 2</i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvg85AR8tTb3rJVVPLHuPDDfgvSZhlBhJ5kd0YN6VGJd2gquvmn9L7tRENGB8P6CnKQyBbNwy_d85ClurEo3-xiM-rtFh_RHfY93WzMiy_PMcipOba_JAmwY7-faLyym7di3Thw5W_taw/s1600/woessignature.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvg85AR8tTb3rJVVPLHuPDDfgvSZhlBhJ5kd0YN6VGJd2gquvmn9L7tRENGB8P6CnKQyBbNwy_d85ClurEo3-xiM-rtFh_RHfY93WzMiy_PMcipOba_JAmwY7-faLyym7di3Thw5W_taw/s1600/woessignature.jpg" /></a></div></div>Lydiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00955620317099864194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956049921912518991.post-82234671730476477022010-10-22T00:59:00.005-04:002011-02-26T00:33:12.340-05:00Vocabulary My Italian Grandmother Taught Me<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBuuA2-ZMiycGpDkEIRkMU5y_qE54eOupcXrUaQzicmBbAya_7MS2fS5TE5MyIwNqqKv0a6op6XwI9YMzJgvNBSarqChN8MpCfHUA3QEYufsxRU1pw-i6P2D4NqmZzjIU3vMyIFFOK47A/s1600/getthumb.php.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBuuA2-ZMiycGpDkEIRkMU5y_qE54eOupcXrUaQzicmBbAya_7MS2fS5TE5MyIwNqqKv0a6op6XwI9YMzJgvNBSarqChN8MpCfHUA3QEYufsxRU1pw-i6P2D4NqmZzjIU3vMyIFFOK47A/s200/getthumb.php.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">My paternal grandparents don't speak English. They know a few key phrases and words, and have the uncanny talent of understanding your English when you really don't want them to, but as a general rule, they will look at you with a quizzical brow and say "<i>Non capisco</i>" when you forget and ramble in English.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">When I was living in Montreal with my grandparents my linguistic life looked like this: English at university/work, French in public, Italian at home. At times all three languages were muddled into what I affectionately called Frenglian (<i>Fr-Eng-Lian</i>). Sometimes in the morning I would shuffle into the kitchen, drawn by the promise of fresh espresso, only to be bombarded by an overflowing of Italian. At moments like that, I would squint, hold up my hand and plead "Please, it is too early to translate without caffeine." Caffeine was a word that was understood and a filled espresso cup would magically appear. And then the bombardment continued.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">My grandmother always gets the words "grouchy" and "crunchy" mixed up, so according to her, today I was very "crunchy." The past few months have been an emotional roller coaster (to be addressed in a separate post) and this morning I was steeped in a melancholic rut. It was just one of those mornings where the minute your eyes opened, the Devil was waiting to shoot you with your doubts and insecurities right between the eyes.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">If my grandmother had been here she would have looked at me with certainty and said "<i>Dio provvede</i>." God provides. So simple, yet so profoundly true. It is often the simple things that we have hardest time understanding or believing. After all, one of the names that God is called is in the Old Testament is Jehovah Jireh, which means "the Lord will provide." He <i><b>will</b> </i>provide. There is never any question about maybe, or He hasn't decided or gotten around to it, I'm not a priority, yada yada yada. It is a definitive promise and assurance. It <i>will </i>happen. Those words had the equivalent affect on my frame of mind as Cher slapping me and saying "Snap outta it!" (You know, from <i>Moonstruck</i>):</div><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/0x-fkSYDtUY?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/0x-fkSYDtUY?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">Am I cured? No. Because I am human and flawed, at times I will be confronted with insecurities about the future; but I have the blessed assurance that whenever I feel that way I can always turn to the comforting arms of my Provider. Because He always comes through. There is no hurdle too high for Him to jump, no road block too daunting. So God, I got the message...and I snapped out of it :)</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif, Campain, Corbel; font-size: 14px;"></span>Lydiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00955620317099864194noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956049921912518991.post-82362411835762112452010-09-29T20:04:00.004-04:002011-07-12T19:12:11.410-04:00The Value of Life<div style="text-align: justify;">I am not going to preface this with an overly long diatribe against pro-choice ideas, nor will I censor what I believe in fear of offending someone (because truth often offends). If God wanted me to be politically correct, he wouldn't have given me a voice; unfortunately, too many voices have been snuffed out in the sterile rooms of abortion clinics. There comes a time when we have to stop talking about politics and start talking about why God has given us the gift of life. We are destined for purpose, regardless of what the world may tell us. We are all destined for greatness, greatness that is not measured by world standards but heavenly standards. We are all destined for perfect love from the God that that knit us together in our mother's womb. Regardless of what you believe, this story is heartwrenching and raw. I would love to hear your thoughts!</div><br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;">Please feel to discuss below in the comments. The one thing I ask is that we remain respectful and courteous. Please no name-calling, profanity, or hate comments. The only thing that is accomplished through hate and anger is giving Satan an opening to destroy relationship.</div>Lydiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00955620317099864194noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956049921912518991.post-8739972124496582192010-08-05T20:10:00.000-04:002010-08-05T20:10:46.216-04:00NEW WEBSITE!!!!I am so excited to announce that I have completed my new website! I have consolidated all three of my blogs under one site called <a href="http://www.wix.com/PerfImperfect/My-Perfectly-Imperfect-Life">My Perfectly Imperfect Life</a>. What this means is that you will be able to find the links to all of my blogs and my contact information in one convenient place. When you click on "Life" it will redirect new visitors here. I would love for you all to check it out and new feedback would be much appreciated. Love you all!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKn4nnXlGIshwB59QpeVC-i3WNWX9GCSgs0ELXXwCfTRDBZdk2I7t9QOrOrBaAe5GEK7fMdCdY4pHTx_ArnnWWwIqx41U7Hzj7u0uBdcLWr6HB7EY6-IDWJC-3pWPyvlMLpJ4mtZFR8h4/s400/My+Perfectly+Imperfect+Life.png" width="400" /></div>Lydiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00955620317099864194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956049921912518991.post-79034353214730561792010-03-15T23:16:00.003-04:002011-07-12T19:13:51.441-04:00Envelope Vanity<div style="text-align: justify;">I have 50+ resume envelopes to lick shut and all I can think about is the Seinfeld episode when George's fiance dies from licking wedding envelopes. I don't know why they don't make pretty AND self-adhesive envelopes. Is this the price to pay for envelope vanity?</div><br />
<object height="265" width="320"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/xBAJjmN7JWE&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/xBAJjmN7JWE&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="320" height="265"></embed></object>Lydiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00955620317099864194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956049921912518991.post-34716623062708628282010-01-20T16:42:00.004-05:002011-07-12T19:10:06.723-04:00Inside the Belly of the Beast<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGFH4T1v2Z9e4pW5RHYXj77XiG2KfA8Aw9Ys_kZXuw1TvgLppwdJmwm8_3L2SDuTKABbO9M03qBGuM7HEEC_AuqBYTIK-4CpXcY14dR7e6S4SJ7hVQkmf9PosoGNz7a_0LAvqf23K4qHk/s1600-h/_47107530_008535996-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" mt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGFH4T1v2Z9e4pW5RHYXj77XiG2KfA8Aw9Ys_kZXuw1TvgLppwdJmwm8_3L2SDuTKABbO9M03qBGuM7HEEC_AuqBYTIK-4CpXcY14dR7e6S4SJ7hVQkmf9PosoGNz7a_0LAvqf23K4qHk/s400/_47107530_008535996-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Even as I try to write this post I am struggling to see through a veil of tears. The catastrophic earthquake in Haiti is, first and foremost, a human disaster. We must act now-in whatever capacity that we can and to the fullest of our abilities. Aftershocks continue to traumatize an already paralyzed country resulting in fatal delays of relief personnel and supplies. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Today Haitian native and Grammy Award winning arist Wyclef Jean (of <a href="http://yele.org/">Yele Haiti</a>) was on <a href="http://www.oprah.com/showinfo/Just-Back-From-Haiti-Wyclef-Jeans-Devastating-Eyewitness-Account">Oprah</a>. His testimonial touched me more deeply than any news broadcast coming from Haiti thus far. Wyclef reiterated that the people of Haiti are not strangers to struggle-they are survivors. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Haiti, a former French colony and nucleus of the French slave trade, is the only nation to gain independence through a slave revolt. Since Haiti's inception, the population of Haiti has lived in a perpetual state of poverty and consequent malnutrition that is exacerbated by corrupt politics and revolution. However, through it all, the Hatian people have overcome and continued to survive. The strength and history of the Haitian people is commemorated by the bronze statue in Port-Au-Prince called "The Unknown Escaped Slave." Amidst chaos, this statue still stands as a beacon to the hopeless, reminding the masses that they have survived before and they will continue to survive. They will not be enslaved by their circumstance. They will not remain downtrodden but will rise from the rubble victorious. How? With our help.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Haitians are a people of perseverence and hope and we, as a global community, must help them to maintain their strength of spirit. Haiti needs to be rebuilt-both its spirit and infrastructure. We cannot look at the victims of last week's earthquake as a statistic. Each number represents a life, a face, a voice, a calling, and a destiny. Do what you can to impact your world with your time, your voice, your prayers, and your money. Give and give generously. Let it not read in future history books that we sat idly by as a collective cry for help fell on deaf ears. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">To find out how you can help, please follow this <a href="http://www.cnn.com/SPECIALS/2007/impact/?hpt=T1">link</a> to CNN. They have divided the areas of need by category with links to established, legitimate, and reputable relief organizations. </div><br />
"No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us." (Romans 8:37)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqlvYPHBBCxoVFwxeaHz0INSpgudOBB536zJ6N1kpUYri3jvA2qcnN1mTwrd0RdjrZmR8umfD-gmT9RjbiUG8Li79pivv9HI_SUmryTXXedkkTiklxeG60xaObDoUvlKDYjzENi9za-5o/s1600-h/_47136550_008566952-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" mt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqlvYPHBBCxoVFwxeaHz0INSpgudOBB536zJ6N1kpUYri3jvA2qcnN1mTwrd0RdjrZmR8umfD-gmT9RjbiUG8Li79pivv9HI_SUmryTXXedkkTiklxeG60xaObDoUvlKDYjzENi9za-5o/s640/_47136550_008566952-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>Lydiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00955620317099864194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956049921912518991.post-86175053697349926502010-01-12T01:17:00.002-05:002011-07-12T19:13:39.725-04:00I Resolve Not to Resolve<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKd5Zr7P6kmDzsOSnlirOZPWYZt7Pco8y7Z_VrjbZRQw4kzptam2SGHYpNV-wqPSzIx5iMpqH-ZFwN9EFFArcWUft8djjZcvZ6FkBT29aR3vKMkmRCrsml0pgEvixaH5jVQzWmJjQglcM/s1600-h/new-year.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="cssfloat: left; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKd5Zr7P6kmDzsOSnlirOZPWYZt7Pco8y7Z_VrjbZRQw4kzptam2SGHYpNV-wqPSzIx5iMpqH-ZFwN9EFFArcWUft8djjZcvZ6FkBT29aR3vKMkmRCrsml0pgEvixaH5jVQzWmJjQglcM/s320/new-year.jpg" /></a></div><br />
My New Year's Resolution?</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>I resolve not to resolve. Instead I will walk forward in faith, stop giving myself hindsight whiplash, and actually mean it when I say "Ok God. You know best."Lydiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00955620317099864194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956049921912518991.post-87297860960904562842010-01-12T00:55:00.002-05:002011-07-12T19:13:28.718-04:00Girls Just Wanna Have Fun<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyKOIi4dzYsaGjuf2_ZkWGlPuTvG68p4pdjnqI9EhNAWdaN5EH4wnume0Yod2mAk9i9RGkUGYAxtRCz8HzkdXgoSyR1BULWHmgujxAtweXk9dDbWCO-KliWIihSPSV0qlj2hu7pMrtho0/s1600-h/MammaMia00.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyKOIi4dzYsaGjuf2_ZkWGlPuTvG68p4pdjnqI9EhNAWdaN5EH4wnume0Yod2mAk9i9RGkUGYAxtRCz8HzkdXgoSyR1BULWHmgujxAtweXk9dDbWCO-KliWIihSPSV0qlj2hu7pMrtho0/s200/MammaMia00.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Sometimes you just need a fun girls night out, and Saturday was that night for me. My very close friend Melissa invited me to see Mamma Mia with her and her mother knowing how addicted I am to musicals (Glee anyone?). We spent the evening singing, shimmying, and generally shaking our grove thang with abandon to ABBA songs. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Afterwards I caught myself grinning unconsciously on the metro the whole way home, probably causing other metro patrons to think that I was three sheets to the wind. But no, I was just happy to have a date with some girlfriends. And that got me to thinking.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I do not have to be in a relationship to go on dates. Just because I am single does not mean that I have to be a homebody (as I can sometimes be guilty of). Why can't I take myself on a date or have a girls date night with some close friends? Single does not have to be mean lonely, so this is my challenge to all you single gals: Take this time of singledom (singleness?) to discover new hobbies, pastimes, and adventures. Just think-when you do meet "The One," you will have all that more to share and talk about :)</div>Lydiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00955620317099864194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956049921912518991.post-42264340005848927252009-08-15T05:04:00.002-04:002010-01-07T19:51:55.906-05:00Singing Love Songs to the God of Love<object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/HrdkRQ-Goyg&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/HrdkRQ-Goyg&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0xcc2550&color2=0xe87a9f" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Lydiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00955620317099864194noreply@blogger.com0