tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17695369774887005472024-03-05T00:42:51.051-05:00One Person. Every Day.Featuring one person, every day, who does something that makes me happy.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411516344844075118noreply@blogger.comBlogger107125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1769536977488700547.post-14216520517108407052011-12-31T16:10:00.016-05:002011-12-31T17:43:19.853-05:0012/31/11 I LOVE YOU HENRY CHRISTIANIt's New Year's Eve, and a glorious day in Richmond. I've spent a year missing exploring cities on foot. I've spent a year thinking it would never be the same to do it by myself. I charged my camera battery, put my boots on, and went for a walk. I first saw Henry from behind, and snapped a picture of him.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihS1fe7kq4JA_Se49cXsFcRpxcfb66b5ZS4cRn86QRrX08ylbvCoAdcU3CanTxfEh7BTT0Qk6SZlgOXWKb2-fLA4Ms5B79XQjwh4inJmTiUEhVqNg2i6hLPddpVbXeq24CFtqYUp_1f5g/s1600/DSC03699.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihS1fe7kq4JA_Se49cXsFcRpxcfb66b5ZS4cRn86QRrX08ylbvCoAdcU3CanTxfEh7BTT0Qk6SZlgOXWKb2-fLA4Ms5B79XQjwh4inJmTiUEhVqNg2i6hLPddpVbXeq24CFtqYUp_1f5g/s400/DSC03699.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692404040158252546" border="0" /></a><br />His was the only booth at the 17th Street Market that had any wares. I had to buy something, or at the very least, talk to the vendor who had taken the time to set up.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMg_STG293NkRoUKGXLqhpzWT4riqAHUUfseCvQBUqNLc7RJfzUZjBeUrzyYzeObX5nDzDUHVOOJC6S-QPWdqkjtxYfEPvYoqXQH1V0dltl2foMb_SUIYCKCkO-2zssQVGw6H0TaUuALQ/s1600/DSC03700.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMg_STG293NkRoUKGXLqhpzWT4riqAHUUfseCvQBUqNLc7RJfzUZjBeUrzyYzeObX5nDzDUHVOOJC6S-QPWdqkjtxYfEPvYoqXQH1V0dltl2foMb_SUIYCKCkO-2zssQVGw6H0TaUuALQ/s400/DSC03700.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692416289777280802" border="0" /></a><br />I picked out two bright oranges, and admitted that I have no idea how to cook turnips.<br /><br />The younger man working the stand said, "Ahh, just get 'em. Boil em, little salt and pepper and butter, all set." And so I picked out two. "You'll need three," he said, in a way that belied his seconds-earlier confidence that I would be "all set."<br /><br />With my two oranges, and my three turnips, my total was just $2.00. I gave him a five and told him he could keep the change if he let me take his picture.<br />"What's your name?" I always love to know someone's name before taking their picture.<br />"Tim. I'm Tim."<br />"I'm Amy, Tim. Thank you for the turnips. I will probably never cook them. But I will love having your picture."<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkvshoYo_NlDRyZBwGaiRvpg6fP_ixIus8KjG8giGZceacIadJdKdAtScMnW7z92qCGTLQniPTnLZUGN1cEIfMMYdMFWBOJxW-eW-IEYIgNQ1LEHTQle1JxQCAzdLEH7hZNRXLsh-G4CI/s1600/DSC03701.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkvshoYo_NlDRyZBwGaiRvpg6fP_ixIus8KjG8giGZceacIadJdKdAtScMnW7z92qCGTLQniPTnLZUGN1cEIfMMYdMFWBOJxW-eW-IEYIgNQ1LEHTQle1JxQCAzdLEH7hZNRXLsh-G4CI/s400/DSC03701.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692407934400850034" border="0" /></a><br />As I was walking away I heard someway say, "Hey! Take my picture!" I was too embarrassed to admit to the old man that I already had. That's when I found out his name was Henry.<br />"I'm Amy. It's nice to see you here, Henry. My grandfather's name was Henry."<br />"He black and sell produce?"<br />Well, no.<br />I said I would be HAPPY to take his picture. And I was.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm09tZAQPCJXyTrDQ7sdpkyTo1y_VVENbFWWSAJyMpRZrqFTkRH7pOLs7vPqvqVsM6Ox31Jjanhm_98nM-_FEKD8NwykSzUk-g8DaP4uLbWYydpJDxurpGLwbajvyrZlK4UyaUmjUrVjU/s1600/DSC03702.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm09tZAQPCJXyTrDQ7sdpkyTo1y_VVENbFWWSAJyMpRZrqFTkRH7pOLs7vPqvqVsM6Ox31Jjanhm_98nM-_FEKD8NwykSzUk-g8DaP4uLbWYydpJDxurpGLwbajvyrZlK4UyaUmjUrVjU/s400/DSC03702.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692408559350517042" border="0" /></a><br />And then he said he had to show me something.<br /><br />And we walked to his truck and he started talkin.<br /><br />"Got a Christmas card this year. Let me show you. First one. First card I got. Someone took my picture just like you did, and then she sent it to me in a card. Christmas card. Look. See? Henry Christian, right there on the envelope. Henry Christian. That's me. Inside was a picture of me just like the one you took. Same chair."<br /><br />Here's Henry holding a picture of Henry that someone just like me took.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvV-Ucfh4JBmEwfN3c5H6VB0ZQo0Pn3ZnKPmNdx7H8PuD5wMcU-xtcJPliEyljNkcyuZnZRpwx7JtpDyzujKrpkmCkEUTuMeVgRQxwHhnB5UNB2WLqCn3-nLRuzOWa6uHqffCXb_H7wdM/s1600/DSC03703.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvV-Ucfh4JBmEwfN3c5H6VB0ZQo0Pn3ZnKPmNdx7H8PuD5wMcU-xtcJPliEyljNkcyuZnZRpwx7JtpDyzujKrpkmCkEUTuMeVgRQxwHhnB5UNB2WLqCn3-nLRuzOWa6uHqffCXb_H7wdM/s400/DSC03703.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692410174001078674" border="0" /></a><br />We talked and talked. I kept asking him questions about his life. I found out these things about Henry<br /><br />Turnip pusher, Tim, is his youngest son.<br /><br />There are other children, one who works over in the West End, one they don't see much after the nervous breakdown.<br /><br />Henry's been coming to the 17th Street Market longer than any other vendor, 29 years.<br /><br />His wife has heart disease, and takes 4 pills in the morning, 4 in the afternoon, and 4 in the evening.<br /><br />He grows everything I saw today.<br /><br />He's 81 years old. And drives a gravel truck, only missing work for those 30 days of radiation to treat his prostate cancer.<br /><br />He's never made more than $150 a week, but has built four homes, and has never had a mortgage payment.<br /><br />He has a Ford Model T that he drives to the market once a year. Young people sometimes ask him if they can take pictures of it and they dress as old gangsters and "act a fool" for some pictures.<br /><br />The pastor of his church helped him build two houses, but he only lived to be 101, and couldn't help with the last two.<br /><br />He had so many pictures to show me, including one taken at the market in the summertime. Henry is standing with two pretty young women on either side of him.<br />"I get lonely. I tell the old black women I got these girls waiting for me if ever no one wants me."<br />And then he laughed at himself.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj50pCVOcA0AKCm146MPoPxSGM92l9ovEgKAAaFpo_pzEXeDWuZkbxkM1uYDmChVVdrvhKhv_jb_zlTIAztyHlCSYIhdJa049b5t3expamJtwTQLX_zFtWirth_RRlDKQBjq72qIhejJJ4/s1600/DSC03704.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj50pCVOcA0AKCm146MPoPxSGM92l9ovEgKAAaFpo_pzEXeDWuZkbxkM1uYDmChVVdrvhKhv_jb_zlTIAztyHlCSYIhdJa049b5t3expamJtwTQLX_zFtWirth_RRlDKQBjq72qIhejJJ4/s400/DSC03704.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692413425524161250" border="0" /></a><br />"I'm still driving my gravel truck. I have two. I'm 79. My wife is 75. I'm just six years older than she is."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuyHl57tmEddgQhdD2ndLdkQj861m6ElUN-IB9n7kajlXgsTsusDfLJJcffuS8Xs_gt1C_VLGlATgFskkgDqvcD0EvRGhKMjOE67bMauSWvX8CS3FsYDpa2RfU30Kbtassdjkr3EucCsU/s1600/DSC03705.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuyHl57tmEddgQhdD2ndLdkQj861m6ElUN-IB9n7kajlXgsTsusDfLJJcffuS8Xs_gt1C_VLGlATgFskkgDqvcD0EvRGhKMjOE67bMauSWvX8CS3FsYDpa2RfU30Kbtassdjkr3EucCsU/s400/DSC03705.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692413804277217474" border="0" /></a><br />"Six? Are you 81?"<br /><br />"How you know that?"<br /><br />"Oh, Henry."<br /><br />"Are you staying downtown tonight? It's New Year's Eve. People are crazy. Shooting over in Church Hill just the other night."<br /><br />I assured him that I was not staying downtown after dark, that I actually heading home when I bumped into him.<br /><br />"Are you okay? Do you need some money for later?"<br /><br />"No, no. I am fine."<br /><br />And so he gave me an apple.<br />"You pick it out," he told me. "Any apple here. Pick out the best one. Do you need turnips?"<br /><br />No. I don't need turnips. But I needed this day. To be out in the sun. To explore the city like I used to do. To meet Henry and Tim. To have someone let me pick out the best apple, and give it to me in exchange for conversation, and stories.<br /><br />I love Henry. I love his openness, and his gratitude, and his pride. I love his humor, and stories. I love that he reminded me the reason I go exploring in the first place, and that I can do it alone if I have to. <br /><br />I took a picture of the return address on the envelope from the person who sent Henry the picture she had taken of him. I am going to write to her and let her know that I met Henry, too, and that I am grateful that he had her card to show me--that tangible thing that could be turned over in our hands that began a conversation that saved me today in ways I can't explain. And made the end of very difficult year a little better.<br /><br />All Henry knows is that he went home three turnips lighter today. He'll never know how much he lightened my load.<br /><br />HAPPY NEW YEAR.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411516344844075118noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1769536977488700547.post-75325263192080369532011-01-23T22:19:00.002-05:002011-01-23T22:21:57.040-05:001/23/11<div align="center">I miss writing this blog. </div><div align="center">And I do not want to give up on it. </div><div align="center">In the meantime, </div><div align="center">I am participating in another project that you might be interested in. </div><div align="center">Visit me <a href="http://3x3x365.blogspot.com/">here.</a> </div><div align="center">xoxo</div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411516344844075118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1769536977488700547.post-89455600767244605942010-12-19T15:11:00.003-05:002010-12-19T15:12:50.656-05:00Dec 19. 2010<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSZdYrqCFt-dtkA0fkkkGYKJnk_WUstUqbzpkXhf0fliqiGPh1Tzeu9c2iWDqAamUpNAxPNcZky6P8fzFFBn2Kod20yBtCiLmi7cyebJRWi87oZOIhtdanHfIHFuopD3Fk1aVpWlIJyxg/s1600/LaDonna.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSZdYrqCFt-dtkA0fkkkGYKJnk_WUstUqbzpkXhf0fliqiGPh1Tzeu9c2iWDqAamUpNAxPNcZky6P8fzFFBn2Kod20yBtCiLmi7cyebJRWi87oZOIhtdanHfIHFuopD3Fk1aVpWlIJyxg/s400/LaDonna.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5552488688904699970" border="0" /></a><br />LaDonna Austin<br /><br />For not being afraid to extend a<br />short notice invitation.<br /><br />I WILL BE RIGHT THERE!<br /><br />xoxo<br /></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411516344844075118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1769536977488700547.post-14851135482631554842010-12-19T15:09:00.003-05:002010-12-19T15:11:30.072-05:00Dec 18, 2010<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoHLt58ZViSomb8FAqgmfuJcn6EpRMH0GgQYVIV0ElHcPOQDb2VgNcuXqlNPqutSPOpNq65jptdT2-4zUqTjaKf_jIYauKrGzcmQeEep62d37WFlH_dgSF9ZMJils7LbZBEGgv4y4maJU/s1600/Valerie+Snow+Day.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 298px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoHLt58ZViSomb8FAqgmfuJcn6EpRMH0GgQYVIV0ElHcPOQDb2VgNcuXqlNPqutSPOpNq65jptdT2-4zUqTjaKf_jIYauKrGzcmQeEep62d37WFlH_dgSF9ZMJils7LbZBEGgv4y4maJU/s400/Valerie+Snow+Day.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5552488244327564738" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Valerie McQueen<br /><br />For knowing that you can't get your<br />whole life together just because you<br />get one snow day.<br /><br />xoxo<br /><br />And for calling me on the telly phone.<br /></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411516344844075118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1769536977488700547.post-84981808703317852222010-12-05T21:06:00.006-05:002011-04-02T09:03:07.246-04:00Dec 5, 2010<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center">Brenda Downstairs. </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center">I don't have a picture of Brenda right now, </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center">but didn't want to have to delay this post until morning. </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center"></div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center">Brenda lives on the first floor </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center">and whenever I pick up a call from her she says,</div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center">"Hello! This is Brenda Downstairs." </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center">I have her programmed into my phone as such-- </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center">first name Brenda, last name Downstairs. </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center">So I already know who is calling. </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center"></div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center">I'm not sure how old Brenda Downstairs is. </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center">She has been a widow for a long time. </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center">Her sons live far away. </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center"></div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center">She calls me if there is high wind. </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center">Or even the threat of high wind. </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center">"Are you okay up there? </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center">You know that you can come down." </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center"></div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center">Once, I told her that I loved the shoes she was wearing. </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center">Brenda Downstairs called me a couple of hours later </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center">and told me that she got the shoes at DSW, </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center">she had a coupon that she would probably not use, </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center">and that I should knock on her door and get it. </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center"></div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center">She called me on Thanksgiving morning </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center">because she saw my car out front, </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center">and wanted to make sure I was okay. </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center"></div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center">Tonight, she heard my bathwater drain </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center">and Brenda Downstairs called. </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center">I don't know what the original reason for her call was. </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center">But we ended up talking about love, loss, snow, </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center">and Christmas. </div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center"></div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" align="center">On this December Sunday, it's Brenda Downstairs. </div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411516344844075118noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1769536977488700547.post-71326803735084711912010-12-02T20:32:00.001-05:002010-12-02T20:34:25.505-05:00Dec 2, 2010<div style="text-align: center;">I really don't want to have to re-name this blog<br />One Person. Every Day That I Get Around to It.<br /><br />Sorry I have been remiss.<br /><br />I promise to do better.<br /></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411516344844075118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1769536977488700547.post-13311654464949282312010-11-29T21:16:00.002-05:002010-11-29T21:31:14.496-05:00Nov 29, 2010<object id="flashObj" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=9,0,47,0" width="486" height="412"><param name="movie" value="http://c.brightcove.com/services/viewer/federated_f9?isVid=1"><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"><param name="flashVars" value="videoId=641861497001&playerID=30183073001&playerKey=AQ~~,AAAABvb_NGE~,DMkZt2E6wO3lsjaOMNOMkyjiqH9bjF0P&domain=embed&dynamicStreaming=true"><param name="base" value="http://admin.brightcove.com"><param name="seamlesstabbing" value="false"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="swLiveConnect" value="true"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><embed src="http://c.brightcove.com/services/viewer/federated_f9?isVid=1" bgcolor="#FFFFFF" flashvars="videoId=641861497001&playerID=30183073001&playerKey=AQ~~,AAAABvb_NGE~,DMkZt2E6wO3lsjaOMNOMkyjiqH9bjF0P&domain=embed&dynamicStreaming=true" base="http://admin.brightcove.com" name="flashObj" seamlesstabbing="false" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" swliveconnect="true" allowscriptaccess="always" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/shockwave/download/index.cgi?P1_Prod_Version=ShockwaveFlash" width="486" height="412"></embed></object><br /><br />Nicole Krauss<br /><br />"It's in those places...those fissures...those very fragile and quite dark places...abysses that people find themselves in...I think those places give up this opportunity for revelation, for transcendence, for transformation.<br />I'm attracted to them not for their darkness, I think in everything I write, it seems strange to say, I feel hopeful about all the potential, about the magnitude of life and all that we are given to feel. I'm not shy about touching and talking about how painful it is, but I have this hope that somehow in dwelling in all of that there is an opportunity for some kind of enhancement."Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411516344844075118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1769536977488700547.post-50731667064575919522010-11-28T17:52:00.002-05:002010-11-28T17:54:18.398-05:00Nov 28, 2010<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0rO46mxXrE5S1jSgaEPYw-moh2CjGzBULQCj883KFR2GWH93H_Gg_-sWMbZTYq31usk-OB1st8hiGvnZ4SjFoXELVE5L8pg1e6StAerpO3RLjqfNXCEu5B5R4EiHA4izr5v03l5oDB9U/s1600/Mary+Daisy+Dinkle.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0rO46mxXrE5S1jSgaEPYw-moh2CjGzBULQCj883KFR2GWH93H_Gg_-sWMbZTYq31usk-OB1st8hiGvnZ4SjFoXELVE5L8pg1e6StAerpO3RLjqfNXCEu5B5R4EiHA4izr5v03l5oDB9U/s400/Mary+Daisy+Dinkle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544737290201140130" border="0" /></a><br />Mary Daisy Dinkle<br /><br /></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411516344844075118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1769536977488700547.post-13929596328571229322010-11-27T12:39:00.002-05:002010-11-27T12:45:07.407-05:00Nov 27, 2010<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIRthsVh8O_toaB4HPYbc7xakJBGmUh9rhha2K3Ds_goNy4hGT8jFH4tseWG9NtNH-y_iXHUd5stpFCUB8YVQ3kQOX5oj3U1hhplXvxfzgv9_TVGBR5Pf5wwc4eq1GS7EEcO9U_VfYzZk/s1600/Lip+Gloss.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIRthsVh8O_toaB4HPYbc7xakJBGmUh9rhha2K3Ds_goNy4hGT8jFH4tseWG9NtNH-y_iXHUd5stpFCUB8YVQ3kQOX5oj3U1hhplXvxfzgv9_TVGBR5Pf5wwc4eq1GS7EEcO9U_VfYzZk/s400/Lip+Gloss.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544285854391510290" border="0" /></a>Phone Call From Madeline<br /></div><p style="text-align: center;">HI MADELINE!!!!</p><p style="text-align: center;">Hi, Amy.</p><p style="text-align: center;">What are you doing?</p><p style="text-align: center;">Driving to swim lessons.</p><p style="text-align: center;">How is Daisy?</p><p style="text-align: center;">Fine.</p><p style="text-align: center;">Did you have a good Thanksgiving?</p><p style="text-align: center;">Yeah. We had ham. What were you for Halloween? I was a fairy by day, witch by night.</p><p style="text-align: center;">I wasn't anything. I went to bed early.</p><p style="text-align: center;">Oh.<br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">You know what we forgot to do when I was in Denver? We forgot to make a Christmas list.</p><p style="text-align: center;">I know.</p><p style="text-align: center;">What could I send you for Christmas?</p><p style="text-align: center;">You know. You know. You know. Not clothes.</p><p style="text-align: center;">Toys?</p><p style="text-align: center;">My mom and dad made my Toy Story 3 list and Santa is bringing me ONE Toy Story 3 thing.</p><p style="text-align: center;">Who do you think you'll get? Woody? Buzz?</p><p style="text-align: center;">Probably. But Dinosaur, Potato, Jessie, Woody, they are all my favorite. </p><p style="text-align: center;">Do you think they have Jessie at Target?</p><p style="text-align: center;">Probably they have Jessie at Target. She's twenty cents. </p><p style="text-align: center; font-style: italic;">*****mumbling from what sounds like Madeline's mother in the background****</p><p style="text-align: center;">Oh, Amy? Jessie's MORE than twenty cents. </p><p style="text-align: center;">Okay. I will make sure I take enough cents for Jessie. </p><p style="text-align: center;">Okay. I love you.</p><p style="text-align: center;">I love you, Madeline. Have a good swim lesson. Call me again. Soon.<br /></p>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411516344844075118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1769536977488700547.post-937655196583968822010-11-26T20:51:00.003-05:002010-11-26T21:01:39.974-05:00Nov 26, 2010<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC2BEv7X1PvE3DiEDJ47Pj7PJGR5R7zx1yxu0K0pot-PxuKBxOJpoLZiTwYC7U5EgIvA7BVBDi9fxloLrTiLPv8uDrke9IyyWgpf4RtLPPtfJp61YLuOYuIPTILa9CWB5f4nspd0M32Ro/s1600/Lynn+Small.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 331px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC2BEv7X1PvE3DiEDJ47Pj7PJGR5R7zx1yxu0K0pot-PxuKBxOJpoLZiTwYC7U5EgIvA7BVBDi9fxloLrTiLPv8uDrke9IyyWgpf4RtLPPtfJp61YLuOYuIPTILa9CWB5f4nspd0M32Ro/s400/Lynn+Small.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544042121384466130" border="0" /></a>Lynn.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />A little birdie told me today that<br />Lynn reads my blog.<br /><br />Oh, the pressure!<br />When you (I) can write with the knowledge that<br />no one is reading,<br />you (I) can write anything at all.<br /><br />At least it's Lynn,<br />who teaches second and third grade,<br />and is used to a lot of trial and error<br />in writing.<br /><br />xoxo<br /><br /></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411516344844075118noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1769536977488700547.post-81333493591010929912010-11-25T11:01:00.004-05:002010-11-25T11:27:13.986-05:00Nov 25, 2010<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVQ_5VtDp1ZO9vCZYcsmZz4r4jd4KZuQ6D0HgOHks7euQGmWepeT1puM9AytVarz4RuhsyIy9nkxuP-Uy2EfXePI48zS22IVmCJYqvNhoeuDkj-oQs-W7xs3qJayzF9ioP4juOr5XWCak/s1600/Buddy.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVQ_5VtDp1ZO9vCZYcsmZz4r4jd4KZuQ6D0HgOHks7euQGmWepeT1puM9AytVarz4RuhsyIy9nkxuP-Uy2EfXePI48zS22IVmCJYqvNhoeuDkj-oQs-W7xs3qJayzF9ioP4juOr5XWCak/s400/Buddy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543518168874601602" border="0" /></a><br />Nathan Alexander Dickerson McCracken<br />To me, simply Buddy.<br /><br />For a hundred reasons that everyone knows,<br />and for many, many reasons that<br />only I know,<br />today it is Buddy.<br /><br />During the middle of a night<br />23 years ago, my heart broke with<br />the knowledge that the tiny person I<br />was holding would grow up and<br />leave me one day.<br />*Poof*<br />Gone.<br /><br />But it doesn't really happen like that.<br /><br />There's mercy in the way children go.<br /><br />They leave you a little bit every day.<br /><br />And we celebrate it.<br />When they learn to feed themselves.<br />When they walk.<br />When you change the last diaper.<br />When the school bus pulls away.<br />When one day they have body odor.<br />When you can't breathe because you see tail lights fading up the street.<br />Then there is the tassel on the mortarboard.<br />And the goodbye on the curb outside of the dorm room.<br /><br />A little bit every day.<br /><br />Until they really are gone--and all grown up.<br /><br />But, if you're lucky, as I am, your child will<br />do or say something that makes you<br />realize they'll never forget that you<br />held them in the middle of the night<br />and that your heart broke.<br /><br />And everything will be okay.<br /><br />Buddy Nathan Alexander Dickerson McCracken,<br />I love you.<br /><br />xoxo<br /></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411516344844075118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1769536977488700547.post-37422519217388632602010-11-22T12:20:00.005-05:002010-11-22T12:26:30.708-05:00Nov 22, 2010<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh3P6DP3U5JmYuaxhnKNWYiNcyPgp59Uou1xqg-Va5CFr-Y6JqMozYagW0n7mpP-CguR0fYf-y2gTw7jCdK_zm1Hdra5Kga36k1RqYEHOYna_hXnjLMZ7lgsK0SR15gW65PEfjZOYR83M/s1600/Two+years+ago.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh3P6DP3U5JmYuaxhnKNWYiNcyPgp59Uou1xqg-Va5CFr-Y6JqMozYagW0n7mpP-CguR0fYf-y2gTw7jCdK_zm1Hdra5Kga36k1RqYEHOYna_hXnjLMZ7lgsK0SR15gW65PEfjZOYR83M/s400/Two+years+ago.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542425380432171762" border="0" /></a><br />September 2008, New York City<br />Eeyore shirt.<br /><br /><br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicsGNxBV6keLLMDpj_50azTLHiHO84Hn96o0xy0pXgLKdfFI7XF6SGh-acJn2sLPmp3cVS8dH-IU4iwTHspuQCPRynG9z9DE4TlVLgKvREGLnptgJC4-QG7ttgGBMBC4dyeu16vwF5mBM/s1600/Mia+and+Amy.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicsGNxBV6keLLMDpj_50azTLHiHO84Hn96o0xy0pXgLKdfFI7XF6SGh-acJn2sLPmp3cVS8dH-IU4iwTHspuQCPRynG9z9DE4TlVLgKvREGLnptgJC4-QG7ttgGBMBC4dyeu16vwF5mBM/s400/Mia+and+Amy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542425252448441970" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">November 2010, Denver, CO<br />Eyeliner.<br /><br />I've been with my family for the last 4 days.<br />It's been impossible to pick only<br />one person, every day.<br /><br />Flying home tonight to face the next couple of days<br />without them.<br /></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411516344844075118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1769536977488700547.post-90757322052791764802010-11-18T04:15:00.003-05:002010-11-18T04:19:12.013-05:00Nov 17, 2010<object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/nWVzIfUfjGk?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/nWVzIfUfjGk?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Leslie Hall<br /><br />Oh, Leslie, honey, I LOVE YOU!<br /><br />On the first Wednesday of every month,<br />everyone I know is invited over for dinner.<br /><br />Guests bring a dish to share and a small, handmade gift<br />to give away.<br />The "handmade" part stops some people from coming, I think.<br /><br />Let Leslie inspire you to be<br />craftastic.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Work through the pain....<br /><br /></span></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411516344844075118noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1769536977488700547.post-17432311595559125152010-11-15T20:47:00.000-05:002010-11-15T20:53:22.928-05:00Nov 15<iframe src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/13360264" width="400" frameborder="0" height="300"></iframe><p><a href="http://vimeo.com/13360264">Lucifer the Cat</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user2936209">Amy McCracken</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.</p><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">MADELINE!<br /><br />I get to hang out with this little girl<br />in three days.<br /><br />I can't get this blog post formatted<br />the way that I want.<br /><br />I don't care. I get to see this<br />little girl when she gets out of school<br />on Thursday.<br /><br />And there's also 6 other people I dearly love who<br />are waiting my arrival. <br /><br />xoxo<br /><br />Hello, Denver!<br /></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411516344844075118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1769536977488700547.post-88663924167858763642010-11-13T23:56:00.003-05:002010-11-14T10:08:40.017-05:00Nov 13, 2010<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFlKsRVPzfoqlGHRSlu1uGV9pkB18rPbHnnKi0vidqSsk9OpkE27SIAQXp6bw9Ng3-UczhlDygjBj_JKkaYQYVscEGxn4F-wq15UOWTRPp4EUpd2SUw0hNMjrRHXXvssSengiapMI4M-w/s1600/Cake+4.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFlKsRVPzfoqlGHRSlu1uGV9pkB18rPbHnnKi0vidqSsk9OpkE27SIAQXp6bw9Ng3-UczhlDygjBj_JKkaYQYVscEGxn4F-wq15UOWTRPp4EUpd2SUw0hNMjrRHXXvssSengiapMI4M-w/s400/Cake+4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539265356507463122" border="0" /></a><br />Julia!<br /><br />I'm not going to lie.<br /><br />I invited myself to Julia's birthday party today.<br /><br />And, oh my goodness, am I ever glad I did.<br /><br />Let's all have AT LEAST one day a year<br />to wear a hat like this<br />and have a cake all to ourselves.<br /><br />Happy Birthday, Julia.<br />xoxo<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">***It is now the morning after the party and I'd just </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">like to say that my imploring you to have your own</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">birthday one day a year illustrates that I give myself a </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">little too much credit. You'll probably have a birthday one day a year</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">whether you read this blog or not.</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">Please enjoy it.</span><br /><br />Love.<br /></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411516344844075118noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1769536977488700547.post-76260589817975327982010-11-13T15:16:00.003-05:002010-11-13T15:38:48.551-05:00Nov 12, 2010<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjL1BzQW3mmpCafnBXRfzGEJ7YrOS0FXVJWO4LEVENYkTp8DRTW7al3r8Y6rQBIb6Vc89-bTM7O8VPZF15f5C_cfIaDQQTJEvouS1JR8s-CLKAcWt8wtCeeaXruXVVfMfaSHqh3tEuzOE/s1600/Black+and+White+Dog.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 283px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjL1BzQW3mmpCafnBXRfzGEJ7YrOS0FXVJWO4LEVENYkTp8DRTW7al3r8Y6rQBIb6Vc89-bTM7O8VPZF15f5C_cfIaDQQTJEvouS1JR8s-CLKAcWt8wtCeeaXruXVVfMfaSHqh3tEuzOE/s400/Black+and+White+Dog.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539130929134662322" border="0" /></a><br />Best in Show Candidates<br /><br />I'm lucky enough to be the Executive Director<br />at Richmond Animal League (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">RAL</span>). I do not<br />know how it happened, and I tried to talk<br />them out of it. But here I am!<br /><br />Founded in 1979,<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">RAL</span> is the area's longest operating<br />no-kill shelter. Our mission is<br />SAVING LIVES:<br />Providing hope, help, and homes for<br />animals in need.<br /><br />Our biggest fundraiser of the year is an<br />event we call Best in Show.<br />We round up seven candidates<br />(who happen to be humans--don't hold it against them)<br />to vie for the coveted title of Best in Show.<br />These candidates embark on their own<br />fundraising campaigns, and for 10 weeks<br />become obsessed with raising as much money as<br />possible before we come together for a<br />Grand Finale. Every dollar is a vote and we tally it all<br />up to determine the victor.<br /><br />The winner gets the following:<br />her mug on a Richmond billboard,<br />a $12.99 tiara from Party City,<br />and a heap of gratitude and a round of applause<br />from all of us!<br /><br />This year's candidates were tireless and relentless<br />advocates for all of the cats and dogs in our care.<br />They wore their friends and families out,<br />they sat at restaurants for hours on end<br />because they were promised a percentage of<br />proceeds from evening sales.<br />They hosted Poker Runs,<br />Halloween Parties,<br />and even had a date auction.<br />They robbed banks (just kidding),<br />held raffles, solicited sponsors, and, toward<br />the end, just resorting to posting on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Facebook</span>:<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Support Me. Now. </span><br /><br />The Grand Finale was held on November 12<br />at the Science Museum of Virginia.<br /><br />The candidates raised almost $63,000<br />for the animals in our care, and those cats and dogs still to come.<br /><br />It's a tough world out there.<br />But these women make it look easy.<br />Thank you.<br />Thank you.<br />Thank you.<br /><br />Here are my heroes today....<br /><br />Tarra <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Balcom</span><br />Dee <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Bogetti</span><br />Ashley Carroll<br />Suellen <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Christeller</span><br />Carly <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Keating</span><br />Heather <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Mullican</span><br />Natalie <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Wier</span><br /><br /><br /></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411516344844075118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1769536977488700547.post-61474079264272056642010-11-11T17:16:00.004-05:002010-11-11T17:38:52.276-05:00Nov 11, 2010<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjunEwfjeUFcoZINzulr71qlHD0-zQAL2RAdE1_hANeFjX92vm3VV_dTQi8Y3Wi5iAM1vNDJBN8biqOxldympsx27XQO_wFlAGjlXvA15OcNEQFaDNx614UeWxd6L0PFHxS_3Txu3rBDSI/s1600/Jeff.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 334px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjunEwfjeUFcoZINzulr71qlHD0-zQAL2RAdE1_hANeFjX92vm3VV_dTQi8Y3Wi5iAM1vNDJBN8biqOxldympsx27XQO_wFlAGjlXvA15OcNEQFaDNx614UeWxd6L0PFHxS_3Txu3rBDSI/s400/Jeff.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538419829270205298" border="0" /></a><br />Jeff Reed<br /><br />It's Veteran's Day.<br />Everyone is posting tributes and<br />messages of support to our troops<br />past and present.<br /><br />But not me.<br />Because I have some big work thing<br />going on and I am overwhelmed with<br />details, details, details and loading the van.<br />La la la. Heinous Bitch.<br /><br />I adore my co-worker, Cynthia.<br />But I was even rude to her.<br /><br />I left the office for a little while<br />so that I could find a quiet place to work<br />for a few hours.<br /><br />After I calmed down a little,<br />I logged into Facebook and saw<br />Cynthia's profile picture.<br /><br />It's Jeff.<br />He's Cynthia's brother.<br />Fifteen days away from coming<br />home from his second deployment,<br />Jeff died on a spring day<br />in Balad, Iraq.<br /><br />A brother. A son. A husband.<br />A Philadelphia Flyers fan.<br />A soccer player.<br />After witnessing Iraqi children<br />resorting to playing soccer with soda cans,<br />Jeff organized soccer ball shipments from his hometown--<br />and played along with the Iraqi children<br />when new, inflated balls began to arrive.<br />He is missed dearly by everyone who knew him.<br /><br />I'm happy Jeff lived.<br />I'm happy to know Cynthia.<br />I'm happy to have been jolted out<br />of my temper tantrum by<br />the reality that I have the freedom to<br />do all of the things that I do because of our<br />nation's servicemen and women.<br /><br />Today, it's Jeff.<br /><br /></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411516344844075118noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1769536977488700547.post-45363701018871329662010-11-11T07:14:00.002-05:002010-11-11T07:19:01.236-05:00Nov 10, 2010<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNH8muCCPJboHA2Ynr2C09RUiBqrnk5u9S-Anf3_ukhtXX711nSE-7qJTUezrZ1jKWXSS9a0ICXjcpxf5xul0WH4l0a4mCDiKBVnH2IHnBBg9MkUaDmSPPMG2x7R59qURxpjWkhF0L8Uc/s1600/Cammilia.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNH8muCCPJboHA2Ynr2C09RUiBqrnk5u9S-Anf3_ukhtXX711nSE-7qJTUezrZ1jKWXSS9a0ICXjcpxf5xul0WH4l0a4mCDiKBVnH2IHnBBg9MkUaDmSPPMG2x7R59qURxpjWkhF0L8Uc/s400/Cammilia.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538264719291121042" border="0" /></a><br />My Camellias<br /><br />I love my camellias for many reasons.<br />But I really, really love them this morning<br />for illustrating it's not always<br />all about the blooming--<br />there can be a lot of beauty created by<br />letting go.<br /></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411516344844075118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1769536977488700547.post-86669114302888073262010-11-09T21:15:00.002-05:002010-11-09T21:25:24.949-05:00Nov 9, 2010<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPNYiCZljHM94i5WuGGpmrDtHLIaIIT-wetE0bS7BuNX44Tr93AnOBOScI9PgrtJO3jV7TVkh7Xt4rUpA-4Euxya-3yLpfGNWef2Hu5i3uDIcbcAu95U7FMCKi40E_7HYintYlBQsLOHk/s1600/SeeSter.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 390px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPNYiCZljHM94i5WuGGpmrDtHLIaIIT-wetE0bS7BuNX44Tr93AnOBOScI9PgrtJO3jV7TVkh7Xt4rUpA-4Euxya-3yLpfGNWef2Hu5i3uDIcbcAu95U7FMCKi40E_7HYintYlBQsLOHk/s400/SeeSter.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537739184859302850" border="0" /></a><br />My See-ster Stacy<br /><br />Sometimes you just have to tell it like it is.<br /><br />I sent a somewhat whiny email<br />(and by that I mean an email in which I questioned<br />my existence and the meaning of life,<br />complained about how tight my<br />pants were on my thighs,<br />and used the "f" word more than a couple of times)<br />to my sisters and a friend this morning.<br /><br />My friend replied with all sorts of<br />cheery love.<br /><br />Stacy wrote back and said<br />(and I paraphrase)<br />God! I know! Life SUCKS!<br />It's HORRIBLE!<br />I KNOW, GOD!<br /><br />I love her for it.<br />It made me laugh.<br /><br />And I love her for it.<br /><br /><br /></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411516344844075118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1769536977488700547.post-55411712773297451512010-11-07T11:48:00.003-05:002010-11-07T16:06:49.236-05:00Nov 7, 2010<object width="640" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/7SvCiDLTyJY?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/7SvCiDLTyJY?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Edison Pena<br /><br />Oh, I love this happy, funny, irresistibly<br />adorable man. So much.<br /><br />But I can't imagine what he would<br />have thought if someone told him--<br />when he was trapped deep in the<br />Chilean mine in which he worked--that he would<br />be laughing about his 69-day long brush with death.<br /><br />In the mine, he was dubbed "the runner."<br />He ran as much as six miles a day through dark tunnels<br />--sometimes dragging a pallet behind him.<br /><br />He explains his motivation by saying this:<br />"When I ran in the darkness, I was running for life.<br />I didn't say I can't.<br />No, I tried and I succeeded and I did it.<br />And, of course, I did that in the darkness.<br />Without light.<br />I was running to show that I wasn't just waiting around.<br />I was running to be an active participant in my own salvation.<br />I wasn't just waiting around.<br />I was running because I was also contributing<br />to the struggle for our rescue.<br />And I also wanted God to see that I really wanted to live."<br /><br />Today, Edison Pena is running the New York City Marathon.<br />I am cheering for him.<br /><br />Show God that you really want to live by being an<br />active participant in your own salvation.<br />Don't wait around.<br /><br /><br /><br /></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411516344844075118noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1769536977488700547.post-62895838155995387722010-11-05T21:20:00.005-04:002010-11-05T21:27:11.745-04:00Nov 5, 2010<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqJNFvDIIWIpymL0h23kONq2o2y3E2tvIHg9ViK1n9f2gCFvsKx4vTuzj3rKrZj8eL2HCcg3vOjn6cTG3SA-H-XhmyOS00RRcLiETiQsDC7GT5iyUt31BaZP_KI38yRD2YSwlhcAGs4gs/s1600/Snowflake.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqJNFvDIIWIpymL0h23kONq2o2y3E2tvIHg9ViK1n9f2gCFvsKx4vTuzj3rKrZj8eL2HCcg3vOjn6cTG3SA-H-XhmyOS00RRcLiETiQsDC7GT5iyUt31BaZP_KI38yRD2YSwlhcAGs4gs/s400/Snowflake.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536240683338352866" border="0" /></a><br />Kathryn<br /><br />Today it's my friend<br />Kathryn in Indiana<br />who posted this photo<br />of winter's first snowflakes.<br /><br />I'm been so afraid for winter<br />to come.<br />I tend to get a little dark.<br /><br />But this made me think that<br />maybe,<br />just maybe,<br />winter could be dark pink<br />and white<br />and beautiful.<br /></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411516344844075118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1769536977488700547.post-11782871678908987692010-11-04T06:51:00.003-04:002010-11-04T06:53:37.224-04:00Nov 3, 2010<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTaxALR0-r_VYymwetqeYvoiP15eVSjZRp1ocZkjA4LpMPxYt1FF3i0eOsHrvvGcE1NP6hyNtQFASf1NcBetg5QeQez6asrZkiKozr1Z387Smy7mDlV-I-pAnkZO-tePzLbAqQkRctY1o/s1600/Paul+in+NYC.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 380px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTaxALR0-r_VYymwetqeYvoiP15eVSjZRp1ocZkjA4LpMPxYt1FF3i0eOsHrvvGcE1NP6hyNtQFASf1NcBetg5QeQez6asrZkiKozr1Z387Smy7mDlV-I-pAnkZO-tePzLbAqQkRctY1o/s400/Paul+in+NYC.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535645470966805234" border="0" /></a><br />Paul<br /><br />Today, it's Paul.<br /><br />He's my brother.<br />He is coming to spend Christmas<br />with me.<br /><br />And the day after we'll<br />leave on a road trip<br />that will forever change<br />both of us.<br />Or not.<br />We might find out<br />that we'll always be the same.<br /><br />And that will be okay.<br /><br /><br /></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411516344844075118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1769536977488700547.post-89315036227965191722010-11-04T06:48:00.004-04:002010-11-04T06:51:10.428-04:00Nov 2, 2010<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLzOcrrY_0r_J_5TjM2glgPg3zTKpvXs2dHnZwtc1iMwixWv4i_rclg4BHcGsQ3cv-AcJnXQQp35WSkMG1oyZJJM5nUNSNJQ8MHUT18e4nzUZFDSIdOD7rbN_cP4JHt7hhvV0xd0GVcEA/s1600/BOOTS.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLzOcrrY_0r_J_5TjM2glgPg3zTKpvXs2dHnZwtc1iMwixWv4i_rclg4BHcGsQ3cv-AcJnXQQp35WSkMG1oyZJJM5nUNSNJQ8MHUT18e4nzUZFDSIdOD7rbN_cP4JHt7hhvV0xd0GVcEA/s400/BOOTS.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535645176195785426" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Frye Melissa Button Boot<br /><br /><br />It's good to have goals.<br />Just sayin'<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411516344844075118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1769536977488700547.post-74346553730914879792010-11-01T11:01:00.005-04:002010-11-01T11:16:25.191-04:00October 31, 2010<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb7CFJT0VNRAvVPSS0wOETm9RoubRN1-8BrE3ciSTfCGfwMJNtuc9oHJ087AJtvlSJRgMs5iKYgPaPLJ5Beh32cg7EsNVNv-67l-sl3HjOHP93jx3V3DDIi_pQfjLWmNF1WDLsEV4wVJI/s1600/Patti.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 321px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb7CFJT0VNRAvVPSS0wOETm9RoubRN1-8BrE3ciSTfCGfwMJNtuc9oHJ087AJtvlSJRgMs5iKYgPaPLJ5Beh32cg7EsNVNv-67l-sl3HjOHP93jx3V3DDIi_pQfjLWmNF1WDLsEV4wVJI/s400/Patti.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534596884095180850" border="0" /></a><br />Patti Digh<br /><br />I spent the day by myself today.<br />But sometimes even when we are trying<br />to be hermits and we don't leave the house,<br />people who make us happy come to us.<br /><br />My friend Patti made me happy<br />today by being brave and then<br />sharing it with me.<br /><br />So that I can be brave, too?<br />Maybe.<br />Maybe she just did it for no<br />other reason that she's just<br />like that.<br /><br />The inspiration she provides for so many people<br />is like the wind was today--<br />gutsy and steady and comforting.<br />Patti can find words for things that<br />are all a part of us at some point<br />--loss, joy, grief, appreciation,<br />wonder, confusion, anger, ignorance, tolerance.<br /><br />But when Patti puts into words stories<br />that are hers alone, it's even more powerful<br />and.....<br />wonderful and brave.<br /><br />You can know Patti at <a href="http://www.37days.com">www.37days.com</a><br /><br />Here is another picture of her.<br />I wasn't sure which one she would want me to use.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN5fD1lc6r7WoOvKQjSJQJ8Luht7DuGgQS_nLp-btGRgu4qbwLuprCkI8dYYXlanTkUXDClLv5a4U4b_3umoIi3swa_W-oCZi7lzYFr8Nlxw8qildXCUUQkKytX3h9BUSxHn4iFUikKqs/s1600/Dana+as+Patti.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN5fD1lc6r7WoOvKQjSJQJ8Luht7DuGgQS_nLp-btGRgu4qbwLuprCkI8dYYXlanTkUXDClLv5a4U4b_3umoIi3swa_W-oCZi7lzYFr8Nlxw8qildXCUUQkKytX3h9BUSxHn4iFUikKqs/s400/Dana+as+Patti.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534598401003823314" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411516344844075118noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1769536977488700547.post-70600725071794620912010-10-30T21:48:00.003-04:002010-10-30T21:57:47.919-04:00October 30th, 2010<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEgiCX3FsQX8TzNx2itzUPy4PZBZxR9-1Inv9f5I8jTQi57p0DOJoAu-8HjU7W38IQxLor4cYQz1Gamvmt2JeAGXHn7qt24dyv2G-pxaBvHXI0yLnnqy6UQohNCFlG6MWtW8RqGD2-LDc/s1600/Pam+and+Lynn.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEgiCX3FsQX8TzNx2itzUPy4PZBZxR9-1Inv9f5I8jTQi57p0DOJoAu-8HjU7W38IQxLor4cYQz1Gamvmt2JeAGXHn7qt24dyv2G-pxaBvHXI0yLnnqy6UQohNCFlG6MWtW8RqGD2-LDc/s400/Pam+and+Lynn.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534021360782830738" border="0" /></a><br />Pam and Lynn<br /><br />When I asked Pam if she thought<br />she and Lynn would like to go<br />walk around a long-forgotten,<br />overgrown cemetery on the<br />city's east side she said<br />"Sure. Maybe."<br /><br />They did end up joining me this morning<br />for a long walk around<br />Evergreen Cemetery.<br />It was established long ago<br />as a beautiful burial ground for<br />African Americans who lived and<br />worked in Richmond.<br /><br />It's been forgotten.<br />And it's overgrown.<br />And sad.<br />But it's hopeful--because a small<br />group of volunteers are trying to<br />clear some of the growth and restore<br />the cemetery to a place where there can<br />be eternal rest.<br /><br />And where Bertha E. Thompson's<br />membership in a<br />Forget-Me-Not Club<br />will continue, even in her death.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOGMzIbJEseBfEPKWNcA_IyXhVYS7m8JpZoAgqWvM5SGl9izpoU-6evps-7HpQwrwjAxJuLP4L-sG9hloTvBzhX1G-q-QPG1KRgguFwY49ehtI55ssOB1G7WyPTvyVTk5IjAT-ggRlwQE/s1600/Forget+Me+Not.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOGMzIbJEseBfEPKWNcA_IyXhVYS7m8JpZoAgqWvM5SGl9izpoU-6evps-7HpQwrwjAxJuLP4L-sG9hloTvBzhX1G-q-QPG1KRgguFwY49ehtI55ssOB1G7WyPTvyVTk5IjAT-ggRlwQE/s400/Forget+Me+Not.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534022919866324162" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411516344844075118noreply@blogger.com1