tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29138669780639260092024-03-14T07:28:17.142-06:00Happy Occidentssmall adventures of everyday life
Heidi Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06330380296772961715noreply@blogger.comBlogger235125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2913866978063926009.post-28315409705621741552020-05-21T08:39:00.000-06:002020-05-21T08:47:04.093-06:00Time in Lists Every morning I make a list of three things that made me happy the day before. A practice I started when life became crazy - and that was a while ago - years ago. Little things: walks, dinner, kid crafts, baking bread, flowers opening, bathing, sleeping in, having a shower to shower in.<br />
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Time is tracked in lists.<br />
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<b>April</b> - The numbers of eggs our chickens lay per day. What is the average? (3.6) What is the MAD (mean absolute deviation)? (.706) What is the normal range? (2.89 - 4.3)<br />
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<b>May</b> - The wild flowers we see on hikes. The birds we mange to identify.<br />
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Time moves fast, slow, doesn't exist at all.<br />
Adam dates a check the 8th. "Where have you been", I say. "Today is the 15th."<br />
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Time is tracked in shopping lists and <a href="https://www.facebook.com/notes/adelheid-elizabeth-west/21-day-meal-plan/10158663759073714/" target="_blank">meal plans</a>.<br />
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Ivory pours over recipes for cookies, candies and desserts. She creates excuses to makes sweets and delivers them to neighbors: toffee, gummies, french macrons. I discover wishful items added to my shopping: corn syrup, marshmallows, food coloring, candy molds. I ask her to make a list breakfast, lunch, and dinner ideas. Sylvan does the same. His has a singular theme: meatballs. While, I am sequestered in the bedroom in one zoom room after the other, I text Adam the link to the night's recipe and he cooks dinner.<br />
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Ivory lists what she wants for her birthday.<br />
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Some days it is challenging to get work work done, other days I tally up my hours, and realize I accidentally worked too many. School takes all day. School takes half an hour. The kids are bored. They want attention, direction, anything. I feel guilty. The kids disappear for hours into their own, self directed projects.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ0fD1u6hbJSeit2u2CP75y3PZEy-ExXSqDc7D7HsHswaYFNi4-CMYM458BLtw_Kaijlhnix-wMyPFneZoeHTi_Q9b8riuYFOEfmubbnV0snTAE_sjhe10kHNmUkYioe6UrGw0Ok-AKwIW/s1600/IMG_8272.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ0fD1u6hbJSeit2u2CP75y3PZEy-ExXSqDc7D7HsHswaYFNi4-CMYM458BLtw_Kaijlhnix-wMyPFneZoeHTi_Q9b8riuYFOEfmubbnV0snTAE_sjhe10kHNmUkYioe6UrGw0Ok-AKwIW/s320/IMG_8272.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sylvan's creation: a sea gull in a sea side setting. Made from felt and embroidery floss.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY5o24nAq51Xinfw7eiXkluIz5FMzHH29YY4aeJU1zOKsU_WEPr7nwGouR4HC-3hBJ2W3exLUAEM7nxvroZdC9nguhULh_XszKwFKcKXgMQb1Fh4xc-NuM7UFvKDhJceYVL_Kf51bIvTpY/s1600/IMG_8270.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY5o24nAq51Xinfw7eiXkluIz5FMzHH29YY4aeJU1zOKsU_WEPr7nwGouR4HC-3hBJ2W3exLUAEM7nxvroZdC9nguhULh_XszKwFKcKXgMQb1Fh4xc-NuM7UFvKDhJceYVL_Kf51bIvTpY/s320/IMG_8270.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ivory's Creation: A Sea Otter holding a Sea Shell. Made from felt and embroidery floss.</td></tr>
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The kids amaze me.<br />
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They drive me nuts.<br />
Adam drives me nuts.<br />
I'm glad I like them.<br />
I drive me nuts.<br />
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Sylvan writes hot glue sticks below balloons. My grocery list has been taken hostage.<br />
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Time is tracked in arbitrary goal lists for the month, the season:<br />
<ul>
<li>Try out a new hike per week. </li>
<li>Transplant plants. Plant plants. Give away plants. Pull grass. Plant more plants. </li>
<li>Make a list of all the plants we grow, harvest and eat. </li>
<li>Figure out what to do about summer camps </li>
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We get outside. </div>
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We cross a swollen stream on a log bridge and I'm scared that this is stupid, that I should have filled out the card at the trail head before we entered the wilderness area, even though we plan to be only a few hours. I think: "maybe I should have brought another adult." I have bear spray for bears or strangers. I have visions of the kids being whisked away by rushing water. I only breathe easy after we cross the stream the final time, and make a note to return later in the year, when the snow is no longer melting off the mountain tops - and to bring Adam. </div>
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We park at hidden trail heads. </div>
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We hunt for river bottom morels. We find a dead porcupine. We keep looking and find a few mushrooms in the mud. They are gritty. </div>
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We watch a humming bird do an elaborate dance. A stranger points out a giant snag with a cavity holding three great horned owlet. I sadly decline their offer of binoculars. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Arrowleaf Balsamroot</td></tr>
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I look for Clarkia. I keep looking. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Missoula Phlox</td></tr>
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I give away tomatoes, peppers, watermelon, cantaloupe, borage and basil to people on my list and folks who just happen to walk by my house. I plant sunflowers, zinnias, cosmos, milk weed. It rains and rains. It is rainbow season. </div>
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I turn my notebook upside down and backward. Early harvests are logged.</div>
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<ul>
<li>Sorrel, #of bunches: 111</li>
<li>Parsley, # of bunches: 1111</li>
<li>rhubarb: 1 1/2 lbs, 12 ounces</li>
<li>green onions: 1111</li>
<li>walking onions: 1 </li>
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I cancel the first two weeks of summer camp. I tentatively hold onto the later spots, unwilling to commit to canceling all plans, but then think I should have just made the call. So many unknowns. </div>
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I get a notice to pick up Ivory's items for the Band Coffee Fundraiser. These orders were made a reality ago. I add it to the list. </div>
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Sylvan is over tired. We stayed up too late and I'm not sure how. I go to kiss and tuck him in and he is crying in bed: "I am not learning anything." The statement is untrue, but I know how he feels. I worked 8 hrs today. I don't know that I got anything done. "Buddy, did you see the countdown today? There are only 17 days of school left." Seventeen days. Where does the time go? </div>
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I curl into bed holding a copy of an Anne Rule collection I found in a little free library down the block. I add this book to my 2020 Missoula Public Library Reading Challenge under the category of guilty pleasure. I stay up too late. </div>
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I wake up later than planned. I hit the snooze button. I write down three things that made me happy yesterday and overcook (almost burn) the Cherry Claffoti.<br />
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I can't keep time. </div>
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<h4>
Current Reading </h4>
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As a Family - <u>Animal, Vegetable, Miracle</u> by Barbara Kingsolver</div>
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Me - <u>But I Trusted You, Anne Rule's Crime File #14 </u></div>
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Adam - <u>A Man Without A Country</u> by Kurt Vonnegut </div>
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Ivory - <u>Hearts Unbroken</u> by Cynthia Leitich Smith</div>
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Sylvan - <u>James and the Giant Peach</u> by Roald Dahl</div>
Heidi Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06330380296772961715noreply@blogger.com3Missoula, MT, USA46.8721284 -113.994031446.6984599 -114.31675489999999 47.0457969 -113.6713079tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2913866978063926009.post-64850748276466595192020-04-21T17:37:00.000-06:002020-04-21T17:40:46.801-06:00Right Here. Right Now. Breathe.There are moments when anxiety squeezes my lungs, I blink to push away tears, and I focus on what is around me right now. Life at this moment is scary with so many things unknown, but at the same time I deeply grateful to be where I am, at this moment, with my family, and hyper-aware of just how much privilege this moment holds.<br />
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At the beginning of March 2019 we turned on the heat in our house that we had been working on for almost a year. After living in the bus for seven months, followed by house sitting and couch surfing for the coldest of the winter, we made the decision to move out of our 30 foot school bus and into our house. We had no kitchen and unfinished bathrooms. It was rustic at best, but warm. We camped out in a construction mess and for months as we finished bathrooms, built cabinets, added doors. In March of 2020, I am hyper-aware that warm water and hand-washing is a luxury, that having space (or money) to store essentials and minimize grocery runs isn't universal, and how integral a home is to a shelter-in-place order.<br />
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For the first time in a really, really long time I planned a week off from work for Spring Break. I just wanted to be home. We planned to finish kitchen shelves, plant seeds, explore close by hiking trails, go cross country skiing, and ice skating. We listen to the news. We check statistics and maps compulsively. We talk about it constantly. I make the conscious choice to stop looking as often, to let it dominate conversation, to tune out of social media and tune in to what was around me. I refuse to count the days. With growing worry of Covid-19 spreading through communities, I reexamine my list, and I mark off ice skating and pack up the skates for the season.<br />
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We build a fort.<br />
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We venture into the mountains a few more times, and then move the skis to the attic too.<br />
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In some ways, the household rhythm of spring break just stayed, or rather, each day defines it's own rhythm. I get up early, earlier than anyone else in the house, and go back to work, without leaving. The kids get up hours later and check in with their distance learning.<br />
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We finish the kitchen shelves.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhov1GeCIGLpdg0lfFGk5nxp5hU-1ZQneEw1lLcFqjWM7CeHIAyNI_EP3FpXRlMvSCDNKHBP14DTE_23SNNoF-WIRCD16kO5EUczx0F9RJi4m5y2t-lKJKu0e0xRIVVzZmllPHahTS_Fb5j/s1600/IMG_8015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhov1GeCIGLpdg0lfFGk5nxp5hU-1ZQneEw1lLcFqjWM7CeHIAyNI_EP3FpXRlMvSCDNKHBP14DTE_23SNNoF-WIRCD16kO5EUczx0F9RJi4m5y2t-lKJKu0e0xRIVVzZmllPHahTS_Fb5j/s320/IMG_8015.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Adam builds the shelves I drew, and I finally unbox all those jars I filled last fall. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We have accidental science lessons.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHVocXfVwggWqr8FVLDpU0aAK0bXSoS69yaYL1_MA3DGAKjdCnABF0Q6JsVzAm6G1LVx79XQa6tw-FNDq7n83cXW2gEvA-DUexOe4tP8zU-HfqvdzL8tayd8XJq2jRVIkFon2tLugjGPK9/s1600/IMG_8022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHVocXfVwggWqr8FVLDpU0aAK0bXSoS69yaYL1_MA3DGAKjdCnABF0Q6JsVzAm6G1LVx79XQa6tw-FNDq7n83cXW2gEvA-DUexOe4tP8zU-HfqvdzL8tayd8XJq2jRVIkFon2tLugjGPK9/s320/IMG_8022.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">We notice that the sprouting sweet potatoes and morning glory look similar.<br />
We wonder why.<br />
We learn sweet potatoes are in the morning glory family. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We run intentional experiments.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIWAzP0nt2bNoUzrTky6bH0m3U5aWthBe3w-hstZi4KR_1TWTdzN5YM53G11TxLDWPkYsftG0g-fYeV65RM2gpktmlTAQIUG-T69O1ZhLb7bXUgH6_qXwKXyDL24hw35uRwLC4oA2yTw5B/s1600/IMG_8091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIWAzP0nt2bNoUzrTky6bH0m3U5aWthBe3w-hstZi4KR_1TWTdzN5YM53G11TxLDWPkYsftG0g-fYeV65RM2gpktmlTAQIUG-T69O1ZhLb7bXUgH6_qXwKXyDL24hw35uRwLC4oA2yTw5B/s320/IMG_8091.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">The percent moisture content of popcorn kernels, we calculate, is 11%.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We start logging daily how many eggs our chickens lay, so we can apply Ivory's current Mathia lessons, to a real world scenario at the end of the month.<br />
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We forget to participate in calls. My conference calls and the kid's calls overlap. There are tears and arguments and screaming. There are days that feel failure, mornings that start all wrong (snow on April 15th? wtf?!?), and evenings where it feels like nothing happened at all.<br />
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We rock recess.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbuKSEn-Il9HjxvyWWFM1nLrSGf9kY-EdVH421jWXieCvG_NvfdmnHrCRlriYoucNbnx8gPyCfm4I2fGn7IKvxwDF_g6PECsCU0l_h0Uu1f757IXgXUvCa4lBAT9S7EB0kTfDRweLJkRPm/s1600/IMG_8006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbuKSEn-Il9HjxvyWWFM1nLrSGf9kY-EdVH421jWXieCvG_NvfdmnHrCRlriYoucNbnx8gPyCfm4I2fGn7IKvxwDF_g6PECsCU0l_h0Uu1f757IXgXUvCa4lBAT9S7EB0kTfDRweLJkRPm/s320/IMG_8006.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Sylvan's answered this day's writing prompt with: School from home is boring.<br />
We sit around and do nothing. Ha - try Rollerskating Basketball at school?!?!?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We bake bread, tortillas, cake and have pie for breakfast.<br />
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The kids help me sew masks. <br />
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We read:<br />
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As a family - <b>A Young People's History of the United States</b> adapted from Howard Zinn<br />
Ivory - Re-reading All the <b>Harry Potter</b> Books by J.K. Rowling<br />
Sylvan - <b>Crenshaw</b> by Katherine Lasky<br />
Adam - <b>Panic on Level 4</b> by Richard Preston<br />
Heidi - <b>Like Water for Chocolate </b>by Laura Esquivel, <b>Tightrope </b>by Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl DuWunn<br />
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We plant the first early food crops in our garden.<br />
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It takes me hours to transplant baby tomatoes, peppers, eggplants, tomatillos, and borage into larger pots. We pot up the sprouted sweet potatoes.<br />
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These actions mark the passage of time. (I realize that I haven't been to the grocery store since before we planted the seeds.)<br />
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We think of creative ways to use our food completely and make a first, and then a second batch, of <a href="https://www.culinaryhomemade.com/2019/05/easy-candied-orange-peel-recipe-dessert.html" target="_blank">candied orange and grapefruit peels</a>.<br />
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We spread hundreds of puzzle pieces across the floor and put them together.<br />
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The 1000 piece mushroom puzzle the kids and I got Adam for Christmas is completed.<br />
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We start the puzzle Sylvan got for his birthday. We pull a out a box full of puzzles Adam impulse bought at a neighbor's yard sale years ago. <br />
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We visit and revisit frogs at a city park.<br />
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I know that everyday life is fundamentally disrupted, that the gaps in our social systems are glaringly obvious, that people in our society that have been failed are likely to be failed worse. I recognize that there is huge inequity in who can self-isolate, who can isolate safely, who has help and resources, and even in the demographics of people that are dying. I know that the number of people that are un-housed in Missoula is growing, that an unprecedented number of people have lost income, that the future is uncertain. I watch groups of teenagers roam the neighborhood and worry. I worry about what I see and am not seeing, about people I don't speak to, about those folks who are always invisible and still unseen. There is a dichotomy to all these truths and my own. After the last few years of an insane workload, work stress, never ending meetings, all while living in a bus, building a house, and trying to keep life somewhat normal for two kids - this disruption forced a chance for me to breathe. I hold all these conflicting feelings, recognize that many realities are true simultaneously, and try not to feel guilt. </div>
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<br />Heidi Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06330380296772961715noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2913866978063926009.post-77305678038645358902019-08-23T08:41:00.000-06:002019-08-23T09:10:29.925-06:00Construction Update 7: Suddenly SummerTime is rushing past.<br />
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The windows are down, my hair tangling in the wind, as I sing along to the radio, and my hand rests on the stick shift, flying down the highway in fifth gear. I have twenty minutes of, what feels like open time, on my way to pick up the kids from horseback riding camp. They have enjoyed a week of horses, ponies, baby goats, tiny bunnies. I’ve endured a week of begging to bring tiny, furry, undeniably cute creatures home. </div>
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They almost convinced me. ALMOST. The default answer is: “not until the house is done.”</div>
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Time is rushing past and it is hard to stop and take a moment to pause, and even harder to look back and reflect on where we have been. We move from day to day, week to week, month to month while also tackling project after project. It is hard to prioritize. It is hard to focus. Sometimes it feels like we are moving in circles. </div>
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It is suddenly summer, and not just summer but the middle of summer, almost the end of summer. </div>
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Everyday is full. <br />
Everyday has been full. </div>
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Our everyday lives operate against the backdrop of construction: painstakingly slow, but rewarding projects, that get us closer to finishing our house that is already home. </div>
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January and February the sub-floors steadily became floors: the reclaimed maple and oak parquet, after using 40 lbs of sandpaper, finally smooth and glowing and the slate tile puzzle completed. With that milestone, the heat system is finished, and appliances installed. </div>
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During March, items tucked away in the shop migrated out of storage and finally are moved to their final locations: the ceramic sink I purchased the first week of living in Missoula, the claw-foot tub, the kitchen hood, a pile of lumber that became stair treads. Final coats of paint covered up the dings and smudges from installing the floors.</div>
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April, May and June Adam transforms a stack of lumber and two my drawings into physical form. The sheet of discounted cherry-ply into a two-sided bookcase, desk, and deep shelf storage that is our stair railing.<br />
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<div>
The birch euro-ply are now kitchen cabinets. </div>
<div>
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<div>
<br />
I am slowly making the tile components for our upstairs bathroom shower. The concrete counter was carried into the house in four pieces and put into place and after a long process, our kitchen finally became fully functional. The laundry basket, stuffed full of washed and wrinkled fabric become closet doors.</div>
<div>
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<div>
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<div>
<br />
These finished spaces become the final, or temporary place, for our things as each box gets carried down the attic ladder from the shop back into the house. </div>
<div>
<br />
It has been over a year since we started this adventure.</div>
<div>
<br />
It is July. </div>
<div>
<br />
I hit snooze a few too many times. <br />
Adam grumbles. </div>
<div>
<br />
I make coffee and step into the morning light to spend time, crouched between plants, that my and the neighbor’s kids seeded over spring break. The transition from seed to plant never ceases to amaze me. I look up, recognizing the same faces that walk or ride past, and find comfort in the rhythm of a strangers daily commute. </div>
<div>
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<div>
<br />
This spring’s chicks start laying eggs. </div>
<div>
<br />
Adam builds the balcony railing. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We travel out of town for a weekend - it is our only not-working-on-the-house weekend that is planned for the summer. The kids play with a tiny turtle. They want to bring one home. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Not till the house is done, is my mantra. </div>
<div>
<br />
The craigslist cedar siding, that has sat in bundled bunks behind our shop for years, is migrating into our yard one board at a time. Each piece is being stained. Exterior trim is being painted.<br />
The list to-do is still forever long: finish the siding, one bathroom, finish interior trim, doors for the bedrooms.</div>
<div>
<br />
My cherry pitter, applesauce mill, and canning jars are all accessible again. I can’t resist the offer of cherries and spend too long searching through the remaining boxes in the attic to find my favorite canning book.<br />
<br /></div>
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<div>
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<div>
Kids run in and out, over the fence, around the block, there are laser tag battles, noise and laughter. </div>
<div>
<br />
I tuck Sylvan into his sleeping bag and under his down comforter, and hand him his flashlight. All the kids, from three houses on our block, decided that they were going to sleep outside, together, on a trampoline. The night air has a chill. There are shushed conversation and giggles, as they all slide into the center. I push open the door to the house. It is warm, and smells of the baking granola.</div>
<div>
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<div>
<br />
It is August. </div>
<div>
<br />
Adam’s parents come visit. They help us mark things off the list: windows are cleaned, blinds are purchased and installed, the exterior wiring is finished.</div>
<div>
<br />
We head to the fair.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
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<div>
<br />
I fill jars with apricots. Our peaches are ripening. I plan on making a sweet and spicy onion marmalade. I start looking for plums. </div>
<div>
<br />
I finally order the shower kit to finish the upstairs shower. I cut and shape, what I hope, are the last few ceramic tiles. I make test tiles for glazes. </div>
<div>
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<div>
</div>
<div>
Adam heads out of town for work. </div>
<div>
<br />
We harvest our first Armenian Cucumber. </div>
<div>
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<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Ivory and Sylvan abandon their bedrooms and crawl into my bed.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sylvan is a Koala cuddler. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Ivory usually likes her space, but wraps her arms around me so tightly, that I whisper: “Is everything okay?” She borrows my shoes, and in one week, is starting middle school. “Yes”, she whispers and falls asleep. It is hot, and sticky, and I’m squished between the two, but this moment feels finite, and I don’t move. <br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1Missoula, MT, USA46.8721284 -113.9940313999999846.6984599 -114.31675489999998 47.0457969 -113.67130789999999tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2913866978063926009.post-65842901151930128882019-01-08T15:50:00.001-07:002019-01-08T20:00:01.067-07:00Construction Update 6: A Few Things Finished! There is dirt under my finger nails is the same color as
the weeks old bruise under the nail of my thumb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took last week off of work.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Adam took off the week
before Christmas, and the upstairs flooring is 99% done: the bedrooms have wide
maple planks, the great room upstairs is oak parquet, and a friend laid most of the tiles in the
upstairs bathroom.<br />
<br />
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<br />
The stair landings are done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Risers placed. Treads still need to be cut and installed.<br />
<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was my goal to
tackle a giant pile of reclaimed flooring and get it ready to install. To
install our heat system, our floors need to be sanded and finished.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted to install heat the first week
of January.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those days have come and
gone, and while the pile of flooring is now half the size that it was when I started, it still stands between heat and appliances. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I sort boards by tongue and groove size. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I scrape layers of dirt that peel away like thick apple
skins from tongues and grooves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>It is
infuriatingly slow. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wear away the
corners of the scraper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I carry the cleaned boards from the house to the shop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I square off ends and then run each board across the router.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wood flakes away as I cut grooves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span>
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<br />
I sort as I go, square off the other end and change router
bits, and then handle each board two more times to cut a tongue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have been scraping boards for almost a
week. When I go to bed and close my eyes, my mind continues scraping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I carry everything back to the house and pile the boards up
for Adam. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He lays my 4 days of boards,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>in just over a day…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I struggle to keep up.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is hard to remember that we are capable of finishing things: <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wire two stained glass light fixtures that I finally
pull from their attic hiding spot. <o:p></o:p><br />
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As I make the walk back and forth from the shop to the house,
and look through the sliding door, light illuminates white tree trunks against
a yellow wall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is warm and welcoming
and always makes me smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Of all the things we have done, this is my favorite and the first thing that truly makes this project feel ours and real. </span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
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Years ago, I checked out a printmaking book from the
library, and saw a project that I categorized into the “someday I hope/wish”
category of my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As soon as we
finish painting the walls of our house<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I check the same book out again. The book is called <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Print-Workshop-Hand-Printing-Techniques-Original/dp/0307586545" target="_blank">Print Workshop:hand-printing techniques + truly original projects</a></i> written and illustrated by Christine Schmidt. I leaf through and lay the book in front of the
rest of the family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We are doing this”,
I say.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The leaf shapes are all wrong”,
Adam notes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span>
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">We start this project at the end of November. </span><br />
Little friends come over to help us tape and paint trunks.<br />
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The kids cut stencils while Adam tackles bedroom floors. We add branches. </div>
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The kids and I tape leaves across the wall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Moving the stencils here and there, sponging
one dark yellow leaf after the other, until it just seemed right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p><br />
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We let the paint dry and the kids run off to play. </div>
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I open up containers of sample paints that have stacked up and brush "crushed ice" and "edamame", colors that were ultimately rejected for the walls, on the trunks. I step back and wait for the paint to darken as it dries. </div>
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It took us a month, but there it is, finished. FINISHED!!!!<br />
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I trudge past the view and keep moving.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4Missoula, MT, USA46.8721284 -113.9940313999999846.6984599 -114.31675489999998 47.0457969 -113.67130789999999tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2913866978063926009.post-23749143404229557862018-12-05T11:58:00.003-07:002018-12-05T11:58:38.678-07:00Construction Update 5: A Recap of the Last 2 Months! <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-1b25abf4-7fff-91fc-d023-8b4c54bb15ca"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I arrive home, late at night, after having spent almost a week in the city of bridges. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMYPq8yEbcbK5wmI45po8PUQ4Xxmal-5Y19jrSPiWRyC9u8Qv_-P8DOWGj5PWC5Gvg_b6STmF1Be8G-jhh4TVktBxOExXDZ8NLYpgYG_zbFTC6X8zWt5e-LZjlXZTFKLpLUWplcThwTsej/s1600/IMG_6422.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMYPq8yEbcbK5wmI45po8PUQ4Xxmal-5Y19jrSPiWRyC9u8Qv_-P8DOWGj5PWC5Gvg_b6STmF1Be8G-jhh4TVktBxOExXDZ8NLYpgYG_zbFTC6X8zWt5e-LZjlXZTFKLpLUWplcThwTsej/s320/IMG_6422.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pittsburgh is beautiful.</td></tr>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Excitedly, Adam walks me through the house. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">While I was gone, he insulated interior walls (for sound reduction), HVAC ducting was installed, and the walls were sheetrocked. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Instead of being excited, I panic,walking through the house noticing all the things that are wrong.</span></span></div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">- Framing is still missing here.</span></span></div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">- And here.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">- </span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">This doorway is too tall, too wide.</span></span></div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">- We forgot a dryer vent!!</span></span></div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">- THAT HOLE IN THE FLOOR IS IN THE WRONG SPOT.</span></span></div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I lay awake too long and worry. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Gorgeous reclaimed 10 inch wide fir planks from the now deconstructed Salvation Army, formerly located in downtown Missoula, are delivered by <a href="https://www.wastelessworks.com/" target="_blank">WasteLessWorks</a> and Adam fastens them to the decks and porches. There are three!! We deliberate on how to finish them and then decided to just use them the way they are: square bolt marks, paint stripes, burn mark and all.<span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view of the "Great Room" from our bedroom.<br />The far doorways are the kid's rooms.<br />The ladder leads to the loft.<br />All upstairs.</td></tr>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The sheetrock seems to take forever. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The weather turns cold. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaV7yuMU302DW4-I5r19YWdl5bL7e5Gk4TtYXiA9Vum-7jpHPYSwm_g7OLj5sKry1hScZ_BT7_1fmvTUylgnVMtTFLRiA87alY2_210SEWjqBnf1E-qfWGVmQ_0KbzY-R0kvwt2uxlKqDr/s1600/IMG_6547.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaV7yuMU302DW4-I5r19YWdl5bL7e5Gk4TtYXiA9Vum-7jpHPYSwm_g7OLj5sKry1hScZ_BT7_1fmvTUylgnVMtTFLRiA87alY2_210SEWjqBnf1E-qfWGVmQ_0KbzY-R0kvwt2uxlKqDr/s320/IMG_6547.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rain drenched fall leaves before dawn.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It rains and rains. The wind forcing water into places it shouldn’t be and I frantically call for the roofer. </span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Where is he? (Hunting, I imagine.) Finally, and not a moment too soon, the stack of reclaimed metal makes its way onto the roof. The galvanized metal, once a part of a mill, finally fulfilling its new purpose. I traded months of childcare for this metal. It was delivered by <a href="http://www.heritagetimbermt.com/" target="_blank">Heritage Timber</a> years ago, and I’ve just waited. A stack of metal sheets that the kids climb onto and then over the neighbors fence, summer after summer. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">We clean up the mess left after the drywallers "cleaned up" their mess. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhezU2JgOT34eNAVKcOBhGDDETDADXKxR8QkswZlEWDBmrr2Cy2mah7O2rzBAcMjarRUTQfjCE_-wdiFNQLWb6507YbkMHpLUXjLMcsY-VSBej9gXgi0uXXcgYIP_QZICGmQcSM40mA1Yx4/s1600/IMG_6583.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhezU2JgOT34eNAVKcOBhGDDETDADXKxR8QkswZlEWDBmrr2Cy2mah7O2rzBAcMjarRUTQfjCE_-wdiFNQLWb6507YbkMHpLUXjLMcsY-VSBej9gXgi0uXXcgYIP_QZICGmQcSM40mA1Yx4/s320/IMG_6583.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spraying Primer</td></tr>
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<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Adam covers himself from head to toe and sprays primer on the walls, the ceilings. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">We buy coffee and deliberate paint swatches. The kids pick their favorites. </span></span><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; white-space: pre-wrap;">We paint blocks of color. We paint them white again. </span><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrUMQS2GqiCsPZ5-6TPx4IHMdPJJLhA-WYytZN9wNnlV5Asx4O2BasT5eyfMDodPm-0H6Disl2JAgjIMoUT_AikXLldBEutTwg0Q8lDh_Qmo8RihS7GjW8KXF_YmPH24c2cOvBQsDJGgkC/s1600/CB2D259C-64B0-42D5-8F1C-514503A9F67B+%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrUMQS2GqiCsPZ5-6TPx4IHMdPJJLhA-WYytZN9wNnlV5Asx4O2BasT5eyfMDodPm-0H6Disl2JAgjIMoUT_AikXLldBEutTwg0Q8lDh_Qmo8RihS7GjW8KXF_YmPH24c2cOvBQsDJGgkC/s320/CB2D259C-64B0-42D5-8F1C-514503A9F67B+%25281%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">None of these swatches feel right.<br />Darker ceilings in the bedrooms.</td></tr>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Slowly one room after the other gains color. Yellow. Green. Lilac. Blue. Teal. Green. Terracotta. Cream. The whole rainbow, really.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBAo5Ht1f7zQMWfGAtARaSXHImfAP9tf9dm2gwj2skT1LoI91EnMNcBYQ6UkvMhltpWOIPd9LWt16wcifcJv48Mx1d8KPb4FG-oMrg2eBZzYl4dr1zxA1K8PKFnn_an5ocbFLL1HNSjwol/s1600/IMG_6641.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBAo5Ht1f7zQMWfGAtARaSXHImfAP9tf9dm2gwj2skT1LoI91EnMNcBYQ6UkvMhltpWOIPd9LWt16wcifcJv48Mx1d8KPb4FG-oMrg2eBZzYl4dr1zxA1K8PKFnn_an5ocbFLL1HNSjwol/s320/IMG_6641.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yellow Kitchen. Green Entry way. Lilac Guest/Maker Room.<br />A still unpainted Piano Room between the kitchen and guest room.<br />Most of downstairs.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The downstairs bathroom is painted a bold copper wire, complementing the hand thrown sink I impulse bought from a going-out-of-business-sale my first week in Missoula, and carefully lugged</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> from rental to rental. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5RzvViEi5YKQOCrWXdJCC8gdRLc0hDavcbB6usyDXxy2dpIhRLNitwHqpJp0363nj2mRtefAN2-p4oXn8gkxvMoa7fJg0hh7dY5Tpzp4niEM5HxpjQBt6Yfd3YBufDgJtncR_zquC2mH4/s1600/IMG_6627.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5RzvViEi5YKQOCrWXdJCC8gdRLc0hDavcbB6usyDXxy2dpIhRLNitwHqpJp0363nj2mRtefAN2-p4oXn8gkxvMoa7fJg0hh7dY5Tpzp4niEM5HxpjQBt6Yfd3YBufDgJtncR_zquC2mH4/s320/IMG_6627.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I have had this sink in a paper bag for almost 10 years.<br />I can't wait to see it being used.</td></tr>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">It is gonna be awesome next to the claw foot tub that was repainted gunmetal grey. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga-lTy7T6Kt0jtlRDloyjQ4cJ9ACeEIoc4K55QSnPPNWPaf-sdFrDdy4DtbSWlBdALKwYcJC6XRebEvCy0AWwo4f9T2Gu1eDmQ2soUOsHDHGc8RmqzyAJp2hu7m9aRCbE2c20yopjtIsh1/s1600/IMG_6644.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga-lTy7T6Kt0jtlRDloyjQ4cJ9ACeEIoc4K55QSnPPNWPaf-sdFrDdy4DtbSWlBdALKwYcJC6XRebEvCy0AWwo4f9T2Gu1eDmQ2soUOsHDHGc8RmqzyAJp2hu7m9aRCbE2c20yopjtIsh1/s320/IMG_6644.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gunmetal Grey Tub. Freshly primed claw feet. Look at that detail! </td></tr>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">A few paint touch ups are still needed here and there. </span></span></div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">One white wall remains undecided. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">We sweep, and sweep again. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">My electrician buys me my own brand new wire strippers. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJetPOv3s9On-Leku8UG_PFjGIDED600G9wKIbIUdjxET89IR88TQFD02FCUoYKEbCqAa4PylmKeIFSd3_Wt4UOz17vLAJuIAQKb-0GRiCBO6g75sY2UOL2Rl6ukkkXSKv44FjSgUXmSZ9/s1600/IMG_6657.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJetPOv3s9On-Leku8UG_PFjGIDED600G9wKIbIUdjxET89IR88TQFD02FCUoYKEbCqAa4PylmKeIFSd3_Wt4UOz17vLAJuIAQKb-0GRiCBO6g75sY2UOL2Rl6ukkkXSKv44FjSgUXmSZ9/s320/IMG_6657.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They are mine! MINE! (Ivory's room)</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">On the inside, I’m doing a happy dance. I can’t think of a better compliment. On the outside, I coolly wire outlets, switches and lights. Adam moves through the rooms after me, tightening everything into place. We hand t</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">he kids screwdrivers and they attach faceplates. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">We order appliances. Ceramic tiles. A door lock. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Sylvan helps us carry stacks of oak parquet flooring from the shop into the house. The flooring is the remnant of the Florence Building Ballroom remodel. Last summer, I happened to ride my bike past a builder’s moving sale and claimed it. The help of friends makes quick work of the stacks of flooring. The bundles of maple for the bedrooms, the first item from last winter’s crazy try state craigslist road trip, to move into our house. Four of us roll out underlayment and suddenly we are ready to install flooring upstairs. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnniaFS3EvbrVU39rlxNfufEpzOuRazpDKsEAnLC6tNB0QLOZo3IK5zKBuaCdsH3vnBCWZcmX2icNL9APJQ5qULE_myMcm8F6WxUUDrR-24aIHSWb3pvOeiTdpVNAWGuOGorC0wMwQ466k/s1600/IMG_6680.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnniaFS3EvbrVU39rlxNfufEpzOuRazpDKsEAnLC6tNB0QLOZo3IK5zKBuaCdsH3vnBCWZcmX2icNL9APJQ5qULE_myMcm8F6WxUUDrR-24aIHSWb3pvOeiTdpVNAWGuOGorC0wMwQ466k/s320/IMG_6680.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reclaimed maple floors in our bedroom.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The largest puzzle I have ever played is in progress as we choose each piece of wood individually and lay them across the floor. <span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZmKloF31f0fxj8qMz65MJGVIai2mGKxaeMHWkQ1QX05ArBtGEee4eOET7l88EZMa2a3_qjN0yY2uNcbZ7WN3OAN5WOaRoHgRoAgplaFgGpF9L5EEW_a4dlOEaOMPlDV3qLZKs2w0f_aXN/s1600/IMG_6613.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZmKloF31f0fxj8qMz65MJGVIai2mGKxaeMHWkQ1QX05ArBtGEee4eOET7l88EZMa2a3_qjN0yY2uNcbZ7WN3OAN5WOaRoHgRoAgplaFgGpF9L5EEW_a4dlOEaOMPlDV3qLZKs2w0f_aXN/s320/IMG_6613.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We have snow.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">So much has happened during the past two months. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">It is hard to remember we are making progress. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Adam and I work all day, and then come home to try and manage to keep things semi-normal (HA!) and moving forward at the same time. The stupid waste oil burning shop heater is on the fritz again, a seasonal occurrence that takes up too much of Adam’s time, so far with no results. I make as many mugs as I can and am loading my last kiln of the season today. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7YtSFjHJqOMEuER-r47RgDTuNsIclkIcKbGLuIEXAY6svnakfyASOEOx97LAEwQp9qEBHkfI4Bru9e8qG6QcgVTMX7zAbQRX-G8pkuHcU-X4bK_g9UmpqddPseU19cx-D5PpYJEKEtO-W/s1600/IMG_6535.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bozeman Made Fair! </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_OonHJCs7BqsNxkdd7KIumIYYHWF4FgfgG4k4BWu5TQ-gFY63k6WyjnqqwIqg8N6iDdKRya8BMabj9zOpm33Cm6BBEnjvyCu7xfWI_TGe-M5UZM28zAityTUMGxjrQx3OiYmayMcWVfQC/s1600/IMG_6535.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_OonHJCs7BqsNxkdd7KIumIYYHWF4FgfgG4k4BWu5TQ-gFY63k6WyjnqqwIqg8N6iDdKRya8BMabj9zOpm33Cm6BBEnjvyCu7xfWI_TGe-M5UZM28zAityTUMGxjrQx3OiYmayMcWVfQC/s200/IMG_6535.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flower Frogs!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="text-align: center;">Two craft fairs are behind me and two more are coming up: The </span><a href="https://handmademontana.com/collections/missoula-holiday-made-fair-1" style="text-align: center;" target="_blank">Missoula Holiday MADE fair</a><span style="text-align: center;"> and the </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/HipHoliday/" style="text-align: center;" target="_blank">Hip Holiday Market</a><span style="text-align: center;">. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I wake up every morning with the heaviness of the to-do list weighing down my chest. I struggle with the daily guilt of juggling parenting with three jobs, and the frustration of not being able to do it all - ever. I hope that soon we can say we did the impossible. </span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5Missoula, MT, USA46.8721284 -113.9940313999999846.6984599 -114.31675489999998 47.0457969 -113.67130789999999tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2913866978063926009.post-5128946737522339162018-09-27T16:31:00.000-06:002018-09-27T19:20:30.993-06:00Construction Update 4: Keep on Moving <br />
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Tired is lodged between my shoulder blades.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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I pick a shovel and one scoop<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>at a
time close up the trench connecting the power from the shop to the shell
of our house.</div>
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Seven hours later I shower and drive Adam to the airport. He is mostly out of town for two weeks and I have no option but to keep moving. Every day starts and ends with an impossibly long to
do list. </div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am woken up Tuesday morning a semi load of insulation being
dropped off at my curb.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-shBxbJK_QnjUHi90lxQamtya0bj3Knb9uOvZKZ3voUI3fKyMTPGaW4KisuEH_kqBO_l5TzQgb6J5jKz2raDEwfnoa_FFwI1j7v1exqZhOclp6KWr2P8pFwBAX5npRWtmUe0uU2jYW8Ux/s1600/IMG_6361+%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-shBxbJK_QnjUHi90lxQamtya0bj3Knb9uOvZKZ3voUI3fKyMTPGaW4KisuEH_kqBO_l5TzQgb6J5jKz2raDEwfnoa_FFwI1j7v1exqZhOclp6KWr2P8pFwBAX5npRWtmUe0uU2jYW8Ux/s320/IMG_6361+%25281%2529.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After work an (unbelievably kind) neighbor and I lug each giant bag of rock wool into the house and pile some in every room - down
stairs and up the stairs – until my arms no longer can hug the bags to my
chest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wednesday night we do the same, but
when I try to bear hug the first bag insulation to me I find I can’t carry a
single one on my own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we round up the
corner of the stairs the first time a flutter catches my eye.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An owl is trapped against the window screen
upstairs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It must have flown in through
the deck’s open sliding door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I slowly move close to the frantic bird, opened
the screen, and it silently flies away. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It must be a good omen. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A friend joins me on Thursday and Friday. We turn on the
music and begin to open bag after bag of insulation and stuff it into the
cavities of the house. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The itchy dust finding
its way through gaps in our clothes. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The upstairs is done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The downstairs is done. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All of Saturday I fill gaps.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0czXELjzVWnMovirnaeg34-Y7ADTIxkbpDmHx7ab9mPTSr_ETP7KudBo5pk2sCqmQgP-SpHfbQQZuBBcTfNsx7DdJgTdivAI4ygfxBrF8oIm1tQw-xKVBVjXPv5OH9ByUkxHoIeA03jSU/s1600/IMG_6368.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0czXELjzVWnMovirnaeg34-Y7ADTIxkbpDmHx7ab9mPTSr_ETP7KudBo5pk2sCqmQgP-SpHfbQQZuBBcTfNsx7DdJgTdivAI4ygfxBrF8oIm1tQw-xKVBVjXPv5OH9ByUkxHoIeA03jSU/s320/IMG_6368.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Monday, I am in the rafters, stapling insulation stops into
place and foaming gaps.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am perched two
stories above ground, my legs wrapped around the trusses. Hours later I look
around and I feel defeated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After dinner
and bedtime books, I plug in the long cord of lights, turn up the music, and keep
stapling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4v01CF7JGrfULUMEGs_krkasD45EkfxSZrQSfrQA3_ca15YV_POq46NQp0TjZczsgFHTW49tPuuzYZIkkW7SUp1QN3RSYIJbPRk3sCNpGZ54fawzV4s03WZ_zEXQFqk6DAy7YU2pOxKim/s1600/IMG_6381.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4v01CF7JGrfULUMEGs_krkasD45EkfxSZrQSfrQA3_ca15YV_POq46NQp0TjZczsgFHTW49tPuuzYZIkkW7SUp1QN3RSYIJbPRk3sCNpGZ54fawzV4s03WZ_zEXQFqk6DAy7YU2pOxKim/s320/IMG_6381.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tuesday, I go to work and try and keep up with the little
things that have to happen to make life run smoothly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I put away the clean dishes that have gathered
on the counter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I fold the piles of
clean laundry that have taken over the little living space on our bus. While the kids sleep behind the curtain, I tuck each
thing where it belongs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wednesday committee meetings are canceled and use that time to I run to the
studio to try and get a few more mugs thrown and finished before I leave town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By noon, I am back at the house, and lugging individual
bats of rock wool up a ladder into the loft.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I count the bays, calculate the number of bats and climb up and down, up
and down, up and down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The kids come
home from school and a hoard of children bounces on the trampoline next
door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is screaming and laughter
until the sun starts going down and I can’t put of making dinner any
longer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m so close to being done, but, so not done. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAQssLYpX9-4Mkd6ii_7GyUoqu1DaM0ZFPEK7pgjjdG1LcodoHZ_vcrZQpVr2HKmhUT1UYanX2zO_hFwKmbMFgra_XoDxDT_3lsugk3mEXlzVvvk2itNU4UOS4NUtotWPC_mKcs7_XLQf_/s1600/IMG_6389.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAQssLYpX9-4Mkd6ii_7GyUoqu1DaM0ZFPEK7pgjjdG1LcodoHZ_vcrZQpVr2HKmhUT1UYanX2zO_hFwKmbMFgra_XoDxDT_3lsugk3mEXlzVvvk2itNU4UOS4NUtotWPC_mKcs7_XLQf_/s320/IMG_6389.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brightly colored ears of corn from our garden. Planted too late, watered too little,<br />
loved by the kiddos. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In spite of having showered my neck itches as I walk to
work. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The leaves on the trees are
changing color: red and yellow against the backdrop of stubborn green. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Adam comes home, a day and a
half earlier than expected. We briefly
see each other as he stops by my office to check in. “Here is the list of what needs to be done”, I
say, “before Monday”. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I fly to Pittsburgh on Sunday and part of me is looking
forward to being able to just sit down, the other is trying not to panic: I have to pay normal bills and construction invoices. The HVAC guys are in and done on Monday. Two inspections have to be passed before drywall can start on Tuesday. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It has to be fine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />Heidi Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06330380296772961715noreply@blogger.com3Missoula, MT, USA46.8721284 -113.9940313999999846.6984599 -114.31675489999998 47.0457969 -113.67130789999999tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2913866978063926009.post-71070999968750901092018-09-11T11:21:00.000-06:002018-09-11T11:21:16.583-06:00Construction Update #3 I climb up and down a ladder moving it across the room as I place lights, connect and then secure wires. The smell of paint wafts up the stair case from below, where Adam is staining pine tongue and groove boards for the soffit.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoCAoPCgCo-k0SPU0tt6B7loF46Wknfomy5yl7KNp7QPEcRGuVBqXQS41P3_jQtZqTtFguZS-A1dnXeGN0-DaYY2WX1H5pVHEabmqOWWsPM4a_VHhi6rGU8u8nJdF1SJblbS4d0uQ7GSO0/s1600/IMG_6327.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoCAoPCgCo-k0SPU0tt6B7loF46Wknfomy5yl7KNp7QPEcRGuVBqXQS41P3_jQtZqTtFguZS-A1dnXeGN0-DaYY2WX1H5pVHEabmqOWWsPM4a_VHhi6rGU8u8nJdF1SJblbS4d0uQ7GSO0/s320/IMG_6327.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div>
<br />
<div>
The roof is dried in, but not yet roofed. The windows and doors are in. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In spite of reservations and the looming lists of things yet to be done, we commit to our annual river trip. "The kids would never forgive us", we say to each other after bed time. Sylvan paddles his kayak, Ivory rides with a friend, Adam pushes a canoe with all our gear and I stand a top my new paddle board as we move down river to our over night camping spot. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCWoxIOmDFbN9RMaeW4cSO_Uc8-D9NGSL5Rwg9wlDPERkT_BN-19fnXN6ci_jQII3akM52wcKaTMPcqPeLW9-dnx23EGRZRnleEj5ado2zBqWV9fh3-WUYGbEHKu-QaUoXWhTWd5ksUKmx/s1600/Ivory+on+Beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCWoxIOmDFbN9RMaeW4cSO_Uc8-D9NGSL5Rwg9wlDPERkT_BN-19fnXN6ci_jQII3akM52wcKaTMPcqPeLW9-dnx23EGRZRnleEj5ado2zBqWV9fh3-WUYGbEHKu-QaUoXWhTWd5ksUKmx/s320/Ivory+on+Beach.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo credit: Joe Nickell</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I leave my phone in the car. I allow myself the space to not think about anything at all. I still need to wash towels, and pack away our life jackets and camping things. <br />
<br />
The plumbing and wiring is almost complete. I am waiting on the phone call letting me know that my insulation has arrived. Everything feels slow and yet time is going by fast and I am dreading the coming of the cold weather. I anxiously consider the non-existent walls and just hope the drywall can be hung before it actually gets cold. </div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The stained and tattered work plan I drew up has so many boxes that still need to be checked off.</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
Purchase deck decking (done). </div>
<div>
Have it delivered (not done). </div>
<div>
Get flashing for deck (not done). </div>
<div>
Siding (not done).</div>
<div>
Sand the old cast iron tub (mostly done).<br />
<br />
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<br /></div>
<div>
Pick paint for tub (not done). </div>
<div>
Paint tub (not done). </div>
<div>
Rough in plumbing (mostly done). </div>
<div>
Rough in electric (almost done). </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The peaches are falling off the tree. We have eaten most of them. I don't have time (or space) to deal with the rest of them. The paths at my community garden plot are neglected. Someone else is picking most of my ripe tomatoes and peppers in the garden beds at my work. "They must need them", I think and we pull carrots to take home.<br />
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<br /></div>
<div>
Sylvan pulls one of the Lego boxes out of the attic of our wood shop, and when I walk into our converted school bus, there is a Lego explosion covering every inch of the sofa and table.<br />
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<br />
<br />
We cook dinner outside and eat at our picnic table. I'm grateful that at this time of the year chopping is the largest component of dinner prep: <a href="http://happyoccidents.blogspot.com/2011/09/were-to-begin-i-thought-in-all-honesty.html" target="_blank">tomato basil salad</a>, a medley of Dixon Melons and hot dogs are perfectly acceptable. <br />
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I am back inside the house as soon as my plate is cleared, trying to make the most of the remaining daylight. Adam hollers at me to look out the window and see the sky.<br />
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Adam climbs into the loft to help me for the last little bit. It is dark and we don't want to pound away too late into the night. I didn't finish as much as I hoped over the weekend. But then, do I ever? There are a few more wires left to pull, a few more light fixtures to mount, a switch to add here and there. We did have fun: I danced on the Higgins Street Bridge, the kids wandered Sunday Streets Missoula, we got ice cream and I sneaked into the studio while Adam played the last Missoula Outdoor Cinema movie and the kids sold popcorn and candy bars. While the kids slept I managed to carve designs onto 6 mugs and 6 cups... and 18 more are waiting, stashed in protected spots on the bus. </div>
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I curl into bed and try, not to think about where I could have been more productive.<br />
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It is what it is. </div>
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Heidi Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06330380296772961715noreply@blogger.com0Missoula, MT, USA46.8721284 -113.9940313999999846.6984599 -114.31675489999998 47.0457969 -113.67130789999999tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2913866978063926009.post-89015763359372527932018-08-03T17:31:00.002-06:002018-08-03T17:31:24.249-06:00Summer Days, Weekends and Walls: Construction Update #2The bright light creeps into the ceiling vent in the back end of the bus.<br />
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We heat water for coffee on the picnic table. I sheepishly greet the crew of workers that show up as I shuffle through the yard in my slippers and pajamas to grab half and half from the fridge in the garage.<br />
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The summer work weeks are broken up by a weekend trip down the Bitterroot Valley.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Logger Days in Darby Montana</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jumping High at Logger Days</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jump Jump Jump</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No Hands Water Melon Eating Contest</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cooking Dinner under the Big Sky</td></tr>
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The days are marked by stops at the river, impromptu back yard slumber parties, movie marathons and games of hide and seek have expand to cover the whole block. </div>
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We pick huckleberries, cherries show up in our CSA delivery, the apricots on our tree are sweet and juicy, the plums are turning red but still hold firmy to the tree.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It is the first time this tree has fruit. Red Plum Surprise!!</td></tr>
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I am reading our way through the stack of Madeleine L'Engle books I tucked into the limited bookshelf space. With dirty faces and feet we crawl into bed when it gets dark and the air cools.<br />
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The height of the walls doubles, and in half of a day the roof takes shaped. It looks like a house. I can't stop smiling. I cover my face with both hands. I feel silly and giddy and my cheeks are sore. </div>
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Sylvan and I sleep in a tent, in our house, under the big sky. <br />
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The roof is decked. </div>
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We choose paint for exterior trim. A dark, clear blue. </div>
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The porch and balcony are beginning to be framed into place.<br />
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Compared to our old house, and in contrast to the bus, the new house is big, almost enormous. The four of us have never slept far apart. In one room or two connected rooms, and now stacked on top of each other in the confines of the yellow bus. Sylvan and Ivory fight over the two kid's bedrooms. They heard one framer say that a room is bigger, ever so slightly. It is true, but the kids are wrong about which room it is. There is a loft. There are extra rooms. There is a plan for a dishwasher. It feels extravagant, excessive, decadent. I waiver between excitement and guilt. "It's okay," I tell myself. "We will have room for family, for whole family slumber parties, for neighborhood potlucks and pie breakfasts." We accept a friend's invitation to the lake.<br />
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Breathing and gentle snoring fills the air. Sylvan giggles in his sleep. I click of my light and tuck my book away. It is dark and close and comforting. I miss this already. </div>
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Current Construction Status: </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Street View of House (14 ft wide)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqMTRG5GCXB967L_0zcjqausFKxKK0Ee_hw4nONUcGHh8xX_aEHFHefBY3vTbTgjOeJdaSSCk_ZM9o9PznR9lW8xYWOY6S3nNT8mXuj5StZp1pj93VsgM0isYWZHubGseOWyvyKd0fHFhT/s1600/IMG_6247.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqMTRG5GCXB967L_0zcjqausFKxKK0Ee_hw4nONUcGHh8xX_aEHFHefBY3vTbTgjOeJdaSSCk_ZM9o9PznR9lW8xYWOY6S3nNT8mXuj5StZp1pj93VsgM0isYWZHubGseOWyvyKd0fHFhT/s320/IMG_6247.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The house faces east: <br />the beginnings of the Porch and Front Door</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixzYPYvc_LgE1VdbVkkaERLNzD3GempZQo9oLvEMyJH6eQp0KmskYn4AkPNAPHleQxkWAV3fflzSsMvqv47JHbpM-4gFxf6IiNBRImc_wktNoDICd2HDi3jfq-KF96wwGjGo4Y51cwKbrJ/s1600/IMG_6248.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixzYPYvc_LgE1VdbVkkaERLNzD3GempZQo9oLvEMyJH6eQp0KmskYn4AkPNAPHleQxkWAV3fflzSsMvqv47JHbpM-4gFxf6IiNBRImc_wktNoDICd2HDi3jfq-KF96wwGjGo4Y51cwKbrJ/s320/IMG_6248.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Facing the Back Yard, future green house site???</td></tr>
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Heidi Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06330380296772961715noreply@blogger.com4Missoula, MT, USA46.8721284 -113.9940313999999846.6984599 -114.31675489999998 47.0457969 -113.67130789999999tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2913866978063926009.post-42177628525296443112018-07-10T17:25:00.000-06:002018-07-10T17:31:45.856-06:00No Going Back: Construction Update #1I brush a cobweb from my hair and bag up remnants of old insulation bats. They are damp from a week of rain and no roof. I pull the trash bag behind me, through the shallow space, under what is left of the original house. A giant spider scurries up a wooden post. I pause to watch.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last Picture of the Old House! </td></tr>
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After the frantic final boxing up of everything we own, the roof came off and the walls came down (courtesy of <a href="http://www.heritagetimbermt.com/" target="_blank">Heritage Timber</a>), and we relocated into 200 square feet (?) of a school bus. It seems sudden, but years of planning and saving might just be reality.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyr-CPYlsx8_Z3NxQTmj0lY50Q1o7dnqSNbrdSnUhYpHfciHhmd7PF7HDR6hEPVUOVYdDdsu3oIDVKsuKI6ulxp2eRa0TGgSgHhM7aZ6GcbwNPnNAKpmEoPW5yu-JnhLnXitbr8xQFX9Q-/s1600/IMG_5781.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyr-CPYlsx8_Z3NxQTmj0lY50Q1o7dnqSNbrdSnUhYpHfciHhmd7PF7HDR6hEPVUOVYdDdsu3oIDVKsuKI6ulxp2eRa0TGgSgHhM7aZ6GcbwNPnNAKpmEoPW5yu-JnhLnXitbr8xQFX9Q-/s320/IMG_5781.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Decon in Process</td></tr>
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There is no going back now.<br />
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We are a month and a half into our remodel/rebuild and the walls are going back up. I dance around the a space that looked good on paper, and feels even better.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The walls of the Laundry Room, open space of the dining room, viewed from the kitchen. </td></tr>
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I'm wishing I had remembered to put on sunscreen. The tops of my feet are burning and the sandal strap tan I try and mitigate all summer long is a sure thing.<br />
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It is hot.<br />
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I score and snap apart another piece of blue foam insulation. It pops. It is satisfying. The insulation in old crawl space is finished and we puzzle the pieces of blue foam into the spaces between the first floor joists hanging from the new foundation.<br />
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The floor joist for the second story are being placed.<br />
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I call the plumber, touch base with the electrician. "Walk me through this process", I say to the Northwestern Energy phone operator. A vision that started to take form, initially in a model constructed out of cereal boxes, and then was revised and revised and revised again in google sketch up, is taking form.<br />
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Piles of wood and metal, windows and doors, the claw foot tub, stashed away light fixtures and drawer pulls, the hand thrown sink I bought my first week in Missoula (long before I even owned a house) - a combination of found things, craigslist scores, warehouse sales, crazy road trip pick ups, work trades - are and will become a unified structure.<br />
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The kids ride bikes through the neighborhood.<br />
They pick strawberries in the little bit of undisturbed yard.<br />
They move between our yard and the neighbor's and down the street as we rebuild our house with a village behind us, a whole lot of faith, and a little crazy.<br />
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<br />Heidi Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06330380296772961715noreply@blogger.com4Missoula, MT, USA46.8721284 -113.9940313999999846.6984599 -114.31675489999998 47.0457969 -113.67130789999999tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2913866978063926009.post-89605884420490068392018-07-03T16:18:00.001-06:002018-07-03T16:40:31.045-06:00On the Road in our School Bus, Tiny House Adventure <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">I braid one thin braid after the other and secure the ends in a rainbow of hair bands carefully selected and organized. </span>The motions seem like right of passage and it is officially summer break.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><br /> We are on the tail end of a whirlwind road trip, moving down the highway at moderate speed. We took the converted school bus we are currently living all the way to Niagra-on-the-Lake and back.We are rolling along, somewhere between the east and west boundaries of South Dakota.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><br /> We cooked dinner while the day darkened and the stars emerged in the sky. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">We drove and drove and drove as we put the jagged peaks of the rocky mountains behind us and the landscape became flat then then the plains grew to hills and mountains and water. The lush green of a deciduous forest, ferns and flowers all around us. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Somewhere along the way our bus gained a name - meet Alice.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">The dense vegetation broken by ponds dotting the landscape, the intermittent water become vast and we skirt the edge of first one Great Lake and then another. </span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">We drive more and sleep less than should be possible.</span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">As we get close to our destination we pass through, in the middle of the night, a city with the population of 2.7 Montanas and thousands of cars flow around us on the highway. The traffic, and lights, and tall building fade behind us and we pull into our destination and sleep. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">When we wake, we are surrounded by family we haven’t seen in years, the maximum density of vineyards and wineries possible, the overarching branches of large trees, and a vast view of water.</span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Much too soon we start our journey home.</span></span></div>
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To circumvent Chicago, we drive our bus into the belly of the last operating coal fired steamship, the S.S. Badger and take a ferry, labeled as a US Highway, across Lake Michigan. </div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">We play bingo, and both the children win. They watch a movie. We stand on deck, in the warmth of the smoke stack and can see no land. We sneak into the dark room and curl up in reclining chairs to sleep a few minutes in the flicker of a screen, before we keep driving west.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Adam tries to sleep as I drive us down small state highways, through quaint, quiet towns, past farms, and finally across the Mississippi River. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio5n9W1Yc7ARloEEO8YRvqguMMqc1t1yx0odT1dVuiNKRXQSLlqJ9Tmv1IZl7fachJuNp52lnQXQnBe8p9_rRgoVpHfdVwZ9ymxgDQdLYEZ0YRZTFQrf7idre22SfkV00DaQec7yB8cSdY/s1600/IMG_6004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio5n9W1Yc7ARloEEO8YRvqguMMqc1t1yx0odT1dVuiNKRXQSLlqJ9Tmv1IZl7fachJuNp52lnQXQnBe8p9_rRgoVpHfdVwZ9ymxgDQdLYEZ0YRZTFQrf7idre22SfkV00DaQec7yB8cSdY/s320/IMG_6004.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">We smooth out the wrinkled, worn pages of the road atlas. It has lost its cover and was shiny and new just 10 days ago. We trace the final few days of our journey. Ivory, has a pass available to all fourth graders, for free entry to all the National Parks. Our first destination is the Badlands, then Wind Cave, Yellowstone and finally back home. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQHs0McLkcqKG0dqm3lJZWIP_naHlFP7vyoXdl83AJods_Ly9u5mx9m1hRIPTlHhC3B9VgbNzgWOBg1Cc-tB92SSqc7jX45lWkub_nH5rL4mgkVzDMqxDfBRm3RXQjVnpibNPOTZSFxnr2/s1600/IMG_6010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQHs0McLkcqKG0dqm3lJZWIP_naHlFP7vyoXdl83AJods_Ly9u5mx9m1hRIPTlHhC3B9VgbNzgWOBg1Cc-tB92SSqc7jX45lWkub_nH5rL4mgkVzDMqxDfBRm3RXQjVnpibNPOTZSFxnr2/s320/IMG_6010.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg77zMqbuypgeleRAlYsjKBxd68l7wbHQ5o-g0Cbc_g3RLMu4Ns66ul1fZmZYj9OkP06f0ErIrH_i12wtPHT2dZpGSeIz2meVCXszlZhfiZvvZxq7YNSft6bnW95PxEJSa-ONgcUEhokT0Z/s1600/IMG_6028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg77zMqbuypgeleRAlYsjKBxd68l7wbHQ5o-g0Cbc_g3RLMu4Ns66ul1fZmZYj9OkP06f0ErIrH_i12wtPHT2dZpGSeIz2meVCXszlZhfiZvvZxq7YNSft6bnW95PxEJSa-ONgcUEhokT0Z/s320/IMG_6028.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Dangerous Cliff - Keep Left"</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">We stand in vast landscapes that defy reason - above ground.</span> </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhYb10W0B56Ays7UW0K1sm7X7YH37bGFsRR8znw-JzsqYuDNufq1m3zazhZuGjYKYap82Sp6jGMjCMIz0hEhGEBhA2pgBqKqExy6Pn2mtzpYlXy0z97ajb6lEkmGm8U35SsKlkBSaRJQ6I/s320/IMG_6034.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Betty, our on board Jack Metcalf original, thinks the Badlands are Bad Ass!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">We find ourselves in an equally mystifying landscape - under ground. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">We drive over one, and then two mountain passes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Here we catch catch glimpses of the space between. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidBf3T-EtGULYlJtbCVX68Bj8cozS-bY2ebnFXwA1nZ_IxIifOytfg_XQELZGyFltU_mQ1kvlWdQZbtB1FjLibRzHgskKVy4y2afAfFgTIxgbwE3kgeDaTftuXDAyIOym-oIAqLRygUUwu/s1600/IMG_6095.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidBf3T-EtGULYlJtbCVX68Bj8cozS-bY2ebnFXwA1nZ_IxIifOytfg_XQELZGyFltU_mQ1kvlWdQZbtB1FjLibRzHgskKVy4y2afAfFgTIxgbwE3kgeDaTftuXDAyIOym-oIAqLRygUUwu/s320/IMG_6095.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNlki50mHBhtGQ9qFPfh7CdGGKoe15SoDBhT0RkkRJPwT3ELFryd8bgGJKH0_aRoFBCZr9KFlOiotycoBLCopJLiUyvTd8qTIqwgFh_hi9SuD9_PzMR3nn6PwthmFBLEru6EHLc0t72y8T/s1600/IMG_6096.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNlki50mHBhtGQ9qFPfh7CdGGKoe15SoDBhT0RkkRJPwT3ELFryd8bgGJKH0_aRoFBCZr9KFlOiotycoBLCopJLiUyvTd8qTIqwgFh_hi9SuD9_PzMR3nn6PwthmFBLEru6EHLc0t72y8T/s200/IMG_6096.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">We can see from the space above to the space below. </span></div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">At 1:30 in the morning Adam pulls the bus to the curb of our house (lot?). Exhausted, and in need of showers, the bus is put in park and we drag ourselves to the back and crawl under the covers. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">We slam into the routine of real life. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Adam heads to work before 8. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I stop by the gym for a quick shower and head to a day of solid meetings. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Ivory’s braids stay. </span></span></div>
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Heidi Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06330380296772961715noreply@blogger.com4Yellowstone National Park, United States44.427963 -110.5884550000000118.905928499999998 -151.897049 69.9499975 -69.279861000000011tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2913866978063926009.post-1860575964411735362018-04-11T00:52:00.000-06:002018-04-11T09:32:14.981-06:00Making Missoula Home“I gave my home away today.”<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'm hugging a stranger.
</div>
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She is crying and I'm trying really
hard not to.
</div>
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In my hand is a rain spattered list of
mobile homes that are delinquent on their property taxes.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Everyone in this mobile home court
received a six month eviction notice five and a half months ago, and
I am attempting to figure out which homes on the list are still
occupied, or planned on being moved, and can benefit from a community
of strangers that raised $10,000 to keep folks in their homes.
Folks who can leave, have left. The lots are a mix of occupied,
empty, abandoned, trashed, and taken over by squatters.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Her home is not on the list.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Her mobile home, well maintained, loved
and updated, is too old to move.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Nine years as a owner of her own home
are gone.
</div>
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Thirteen years working for the same
employer and nothing is okay.
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She gave away her home.
</div>
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“I'm sorry.” I say.
</div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
My personal, professional, and public
office worlds have been and are crashing together and its making me
dizzy. I can't seem to figure out how to navigate a path, any path.
Is there a path?
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUNCTKQ2eOhFIJUe_65hqZqm7EOJTYrvLz3FCfs3BUwGqGgA24gquW_JG_ahckJORBhM-az7WICVdyYFiXVherms2mVXPawoBrqnKjfO_epZsKmjKKEp756SdC8Vr4oxDPF87CmddBCnnk/s1600/live+work+play+mugs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUNCTKQ2eOhFIJUe_65hqZqm7EOJTYrvLz3FCfs3BUwGqGgA24gquW_JG_ahckJORBhM-az7WICVdyYFiXVherms2mVXPawoBrqnKjfO_epZsKmjKKEp756SdC8Vr4oxDPF87CmddBCnnk/s320/live+work+play+mugs.jpg" width="320" /></a>“What is the city's plan for the for
the fall out created by this removal [of folks living in cars and
campers in a city parking lot] as people relocate into our
neighborhood?”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I don't answer.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I don't know how to answer.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I don't know if there is an answer.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There clearly is a problem, and yet, I
can't define the problem clearly.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I want to say: “Some of those folks
have always been your neighbors. They aren't relocating into our
neighborhood. They are losing their neighborhood.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I feel like I do nothing at work.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I make some phone calls, send emails,
set up a meeting, address the construction hick-up of the day.
<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcPeoXb143FYqmF3d1sxlKQwXHyjPAx3237zs7sT4l22bQkmKHurhtrPxRBjNOgZauomQRMAsYbg1xbAiMxjqTKWkmMnXwO6jVwsYFNtq-50YuaYIHEv1wLDOe-jwFhnOhpC_TVb-V-IWj/s1600/Lee-Gordon-Place-Rendering.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1246" data-original-width="1600" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcPeoXb143FYqmF3d1sxlKQwXHyjPAx3237zs7sT4l22bQkmKHurhtrPxRBjNOgZauomQRMAsYbg1xbAiMxjqTKWkmMnXwO6jVwsYFNtq-50YuaYIHEv1wLDOe-jwFhnOhpC_TVb-V-IWj/s320/Lee-Gordon-Place-Rendering.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I stand on the south east corner, and
look over the still empty site of the future Lee Gordon Place, which
will add seven permanently affordable homes to North-Missoula
Community Development Corporation's Community Land Trust, smack dab
in downtown Missoula. To get to today, has taken three years, two of
mine, half a dozen grants administrators, and countless tears. I'm
never sure where to push, who is on my team, willing to help, worthy
of trust.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I watch the excavator dig.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Why is this so hard?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So slow?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Why does it feel like a constant
battle?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I find myself at tables were I don't
feel I belong.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I find myself surrounded by folks with
means, access to capital, and thus, incredible decision making power.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I find myself struggling to find and
define the appropriate vocabulary, to create a bridge across a giant,
invisible, but present divide that seems to be growing everywhere and
even here.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'm failing.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Wait,” I want to say: “Why are
we talking about being Silicon Valley's second office? What about
access to quality childcare, safe affordable housing, social equity
and economic justice? Where does this fit in your idea of Missoula?
Where do I fit in your Missoula?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The Missoula I know just payed off the
property taxes on thirty one homes. Thirty one homes will not be auctioned off
tomorrow.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
That should give me faith, but I'm
struggling.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'm struggling, because in the Missoula
I know, an individual seemingly can also do everything right, and
still lose everything. I can't help wonder about how many others are invisible, go unnoticed, voiceless, and unsupported, until they are the subject
of an email, invading our neighborhoods.
</div>
<br />
<br />Heidi Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06330380296772961715noreply@blogger.com1Missoula, MT, USA46.8721284 -113.9940313999999846.6984599 -114.31675489999998 47.0457969 -113.67130789999999tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2913866978063926009.post-14366160616928870232018-02-13T15:03:00.001-07:002018-02-13T15:03:32.793-07:00Boots and Bare Feet<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There is something that I love about
being solidly in the winter months.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib23le4TunnNxo8sp07BZGCiUWvXHNVPQqj5Eb-uRIFh-wpjdRvra_7K0hMppjt6NnkJ6oPkCSW8uJErHDJWsXrmjiiu_oRC3tAd68RcReQY7__iXSnpYlrYbx4b0oJXRLtG7ks8wsU0Ii/s1600/IMG_5415.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib23le4TunnNxo8sp07BZGCiUWvXHNVPQqj5Eb-uRIFh-wpjdRvra_7K0hMppjt6NnkJ6oPkCSW8uJErHDJWsXrmjiiu_oRC3tAd68RcReQY7__iXSnpYlrYbx4b0oJXRLtG7ks8wsU0Ii/s320/IMG_5415.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Past is the anxiety about the coming
cold, the lists of unfinished work, all the things we could have
done but did not do. It is a new year full of dreams, and potential,
and things yet to come.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It is dark enough at 6:30 in the
morning to see the earth's shadow cover the moon. Ivory glaces
upward, takes in the moment, and crawls back into bed. Sylvan looks
up and keeps looking. The cold creeps between bathrobes, and coats,
and boots on bare feet as we stand looking at the sky.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga6aY6aXXhs_Vqtjcdd2EqjuAFiLZ26c8RcyqrQFpXlPDJNuowShhorEOXQyNa3kKTngGjdQGUPUZaUVOUSygt1V3HyAbFw3Xvpnxs1gk3jjJDwJfoYEtPqXxgC4HI4a_vROfi0ArayZuZ/s1600/IMG_5453.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga6aY6aXXhs_Vqtjcdd2EqjuAFiLZ26c8RcyqrQFpXlPDJNuowShhorEOXQyNa3kKTngGjdQGUPUZaUVOUSygt1V3HyAbFw3Xvpnxs1gk3jjJDwJfoYEtPqXxgC4HI4a_vROfi0ArayZuZ/s400/IMG_5453.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The early morning darkness gradually
becomes lighter, the afternoons noticeably longer.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Winter is an excuse to hunker down, to bend our heads close, sip warmth
and gradually put the pieces together.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw_S9gnY74ymV0FCL6TJIVdWXW6TmJwce4FCGPCe0rUsVm7FawugYZiPPQc2CPDb46o5ESiUJhzfM60_JWVGyYIsfFoebpWVNxVnYNmBRJdU_p96qyzc_5JEb8DRW1AXpu860K39LxCOpm/s1600/IMG_5497.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw_S9gnY74ymV0FCL6TJIVdWXW6TmJwce4FCGPCe0rUsVm7FawugYZiPPQc2CPDb46o5ESiUJhzfM60_JWVGyYIsfFoebpWVNxVnYNmBRJdU_p96qyzc_5JEb8DRW1AXpu860K39LxCOpm/s320/IMG_5497.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Puddles form and ice sheets get smashed
while waiting for the school bus.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidNFgewmELj_DMl98PhDZ4omvlT3FXrvwyDAzwVen__dQOxibjDBNWvTwPHLyRKCc8hEurpueo0iGflZtovvCRIwTkUXHeAyoZbxXBYPVJY3wkjcaDVqEiHcqW1f6TjX85QIyeZi1rOmAD/s1600/IMG_5444.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidNFgewmELj_DMl98PhDZ4omvlT3FXrvwyDAzwVen__dQOxibjDBNWvTwPHLyRKCc8hEurpueo0iGflZtovvCRIwTkUXHeAyoZbxXBYPVJY3wkjcaDVqEiHcqW1f6TjX85QIyeZi1rOmAD/s320/IMG_5444.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The surface of the road slowly appears
and disappears on my walk to work.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It snows, and it seems that every snow
could be the last.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I no longer attempt to have Sylvan's
birthday at our house, the space too small to hold so many people and the bedroom floor too bouncy to host a hoard of seven year
old boys. The weather is too unpredictable.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0MP82Bb_9L01ORFeQKoG5NzzRZJ3l3BrqOSOnjzVsADluhC9jJpIrFDSPoDqaeFbYU8G9YXVUmRzyevAzoT5mAc1i2-3MP7pjB5OCrqn2RuOmLCaWx1vcB8qFttiQH1tI5G1xy6pP9Etz/s1600/IMG_5476.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0MP82Bb_9L01ORFeQKoG5NzzRZJ3l3BrqOSOnjzVsADluhC9jJpIrFDSPoDqaeFbYU8G9YXVUmRzyevAzoT5mAc1i2-3MP7pjB5OCrqn2RuOmLCaWx1vcB8qFttiQH1tI5G1xy6pP9Etz/s320/IMG_5476.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Last year's attempt to go sledding at
Lolo Pass was thwarted by an unseasonable thaw that left the septic
field flooded and our plan bathroom-less. Sylvan's disappointment of a failed birthday lingered all year and was finally replaced as we
zoomed down water slides shrieking and laughing.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnXLb0KlaEbtGr_4YXJAjqbS8QwTMV0qj1_MAx3VYFk520TDOSGJ70i_yvalHd9BCeUN_Rq_-wcliEWPT0h8cgMSgXWJGwrITBNQqmgFFiVUazj4RNj4jAVC57UlzxkSSHdFLirySKUxpA/s1600/IMG_5489.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnXLb0KlaEbtGr_4YXJAjqbS8QwTMV0qj1_MAx3VYFk520TDOSGJ70i_yvalHd9BCeUN_Rq_-wcliEWPT0h8cgMSgXWJGwrITBNQqmgFFiVUazj4RNj4jAVC57UlzxkSSHdFLirySKUxpA/s320/IMG_5489.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We swish, swish, swish in the parallel
tracks set along the edge of the trail as we glide along the creek.
The sun shines and brief gusts of wind blow the snow off of trees and
swirl it around. We move steadily in one direction until the timer in
my pocket vibrates, we turn around, and glide downward. I follow
behind Ivory and Sylvan, but I see the reflection of their joy on every face that passes them.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-T-yecP0QG0r2bu9vlLZPuqSSSug-DXDL-rnoB_HE98nbn0oY-fgxJGKVFYpoYIHf40Vz2zofx7grpIvlb2X7LUhmZ5CCDHAfGhrFts1jB-Egm0d2Pyk0DiOwBpu3E2O5hlnHdn6A9Pjv/s1600/IMG_5502.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-T-yecP0QG0r2bu9vlLZPuqSSSug-DXDL-rnoB_HE98nbn0oY-fgxJGKVFYpoYIHf40Vz2zofx7grpIvlb2X7LUhmZ5CCDHAfGhrFts1jB-Egm0d2Pyk0DiOwBpu3E2O5hlnHdn6A9Pjv/s320/IMG_5502.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I get up in the dark. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Spots on the
floor are so cold they make the soles of my feet hurt, and I scurry
around for my house shoes. I steal a few moments for myself; to
stretch, to read, to carve a mug or more, to waste time, to curl up
under a blanket alone and knit a few rows, to dream, and to embrace winter. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1Missoula, MT, USA46.878717599999987 -113.9965859999999846.705049099999989 -114.31930949999997 47.052386099999985 -113.67386249999998tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2913866978063926009.post-46075096092055952622017-11-07T15:37:00.003-07:002017-11-07T15:37:51.931-07:0024 Degrees and Cloudy <div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Sylvan's blue and orange glove keeps
slipping out of my knitted mitten.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
He and I wave to Ivory on the school bus, go
down the street, and up and over the bridge.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There is a skiff of snow on the ground,
a hint of sunlight through the clouds, and the sound of birds
chirping. Flocks of black birds morph across the sky, the morning
light flashing off of their wing flaps, and for an instant they are foating glitter.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtJUQRlImqiayzhvr70aUxabEVzHb0NdsAWVf_VYEzVQRfhCUQhyRmHKC_5vF89F1uz-ijRfMw-xff049jMz6LYo655dGd2ECwEe2rlFw5pX4JgwfiW2Hed90aPrYTugtizQTtj-hD3GBy/s1600/IMG_5141.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtJUQRlImqiayzhvr70aUxabEVzHb0NdsAWVf_VYEzVQRfhCUQhyRmHKC_5vF89F1uz-ijRfMw-xff049jMz6LYo655dGd2ECwEe2rlFw5pX4JgwfiW2Hed90aPrYTugtizQTtj-hD3GBy/s320/IMG_5141.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Our hands slip and we switch sides.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I can't remember what we talk about,
but the kid walking next to me is happy and bubbly and is rattling on
barely audible over the drone of trucks. It is hard to imagine that
just half an hour earlier, he was screaming about breakfast and
shoes and going to school in general.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The snow and cold surprised me.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I wasn't ready.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Sylvan is bundled up in snow pants and
bright orange sneakers.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
His sister's hand me down bogs I saved
from last winter are still too big, and I haven't had a chance to
take him looking for new ones. I said sorry a million times, as I
begged him to just put on his shoes, to just get out the door, to put
on a hat.
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIK34xUVW-GDGYujscPH2FUlvoikdB99PWqXfwMIQHoKPPJF9qGaSSRI8twZzNktXBahGrdPoJsCkyh4xlloiiOhEftHuXeXOiDpi52rx5wZSC3vKJU35WFhwcdDGJW2YocOpz-mCj390e/s1600/IMG_5143.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIK34xUVW-GDGYujscPH2FUlvoikdB99PWqXfwMIQHoKPPJF9qGaSSRI8twZzNktXBahGrdPoJsCkyh4xlloiiOhEftHuXeXOiDpi52rx5wZSC3vKJU35WFhwcdDGJW2YocOpz-mCj390e/s320/IMG_5143.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Our walk to school takes less than 15
minutes.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It is the same amount of time as the
school bus takes to arrive. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Across the playground, I see Ivory
scamper off the bus and run inside.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I leave Sylvan standing just inside the
school yard fence and keep walking.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Suddenly, two arms wrap around me, as
his hurling body comes from behind and almost knocks me to the ground. His face grins up at mine.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The grows brighter, birds are
chirping tucked away in hedges, but I feel noticeably colder as I
walk on alone. </div>
Heidi Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06330380296772961715noreply@blogger.com3Missoula, MT, USA46.878717599999987 -113.9965859999999846.705049099999989 -114.31930949999997 47.052386099999985 -113.67386249999998tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2913866978063926009.post-39727541934676302302017-10-31T14:18:00.000-06:002017-11-03T08:43:40.056-06:00Pumpkins become Jack-O-Lanterns<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The two of us are face down in a giant
pile of leaves.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'm laughing, and it hurt.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I raked the maple leaves in our yard
into a giant pile thinking that the kids would be excited, or at the
least, would want to jump into them just once. Instead they watched
me for a few minutes, shrugged their shoulders, and asked to walk
down the street to a friends house. I let them go, think that this
is just what 6 and 9 feels like, and continue to rake the leaves waist high.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I am slowly, grudgingly coming to terms
with the delay of our house remodel (again). The many moving parts
that need to come together to start the process of tearing down and
rebuilding our house, didn't come together in time to move out and
start before the cold set in. For weeks, probably months, I've been
avoiding a house, that no longer feels welcoming to me. I avoid my
garden, my kitchen, my living room (there is no where to sit anyway),
barely see my family. I've move through sadness, anger,
disappointment, frustration, hopelessness, desperation, sometimes all
at once and in no particular order. Slowly, I've settled into
something like acceptance, and the realization that I need to figure
out how to make it feel like home.
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisL8kllfRz8iilCNHegkZPI8XII8sFeTAX6WCFwbh8r-tPL6oLnWz7YkOI7Z0MsIyEPsfiktk4rGrpZJI6YTCTOb7_ssZ4BYaGdWcgcqRsXd5RohyzY5H6iq9rtwUe0S8e31S7y4H8z9tv/s1600/IMG_5092.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisL8kllfRz8iilCNHegkZPI8XII8sFeTAX6WCFwbh8r-tPL6oLnWz7YkOI7Z0MsIyEPsfiktk4rGrpZJI6YTCTOb7_ssZ4BYaGdWcgcqRsXd5RohyzY5H6iq9rtwUe0S8e31S7y4H8z9tv/s320/IMG_5092.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, the kids and I move furniture.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Their room is newly divided into a
reading nook and study area. A book shelf, moved to a new location
creates an illusion of privacy between their sleeping spaces.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The new (to us) sofa, fills up with
laundry.
</div>
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I shuffle shelves, rehang
art, un-box books and Legos.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Adam, breaks down and tucks away all
the boxes I collected all summer.</div>
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Chaos becomes chaos.
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I brush the leaves out of my hair.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Adam gets up. We both hurt our hands..
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Dinner is cooking. Four pumpkins are
waiting on our porch.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I climb up on a stool, move aside my
collection of tall items in the pantry, to find a partial bottle of
rum my dad left behind on a visit years ago.
</div>
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I pour everyone eggnog.
</div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
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The kids are up to, and past their
elbows, in the sticky and slimy innards of pumpkins.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Seeds become snacks.
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Pumpkins become Jack-o-lanterns.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
A house becomes home.
</div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The next day the wind scatters the
leaves across the yard.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Raking them was purely an exercise in
fun and futility. Every fall I let the leaves lie where they lay.
There had been no broader plan away. The air is decidedly crisper, and the edge of cold adds excitement to the change of the season. I hold onto both the ideas of change and hope, and settle back into home. </div>
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Heidi Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06330380296772961715noreply@blogger.com2Missoula, MT, USA46.878717599999987 -113.9965859999999846.705049099999989 -114.31930949999997 47.052386099999985 -113.67386249999998tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2913866978063926009.post-74236056440382408302017-09-26T19:53:00.003-06:002017-09-26T19:59:34.108-06:00#SNAPchallenge Day 5, Day 6 - We Blew It <div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<h3>
Sunday: SNAP Challenge Day 5 </h3>
<div>
<br /></div>
Sylvan and I made Oatmeal Muffins.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It is a recipe from another of my
standby cookbooks. It is a cookbook that I grew up with. My mom had
a copy of an earlier edition, and my Oma gave me the one I have. It
is the More With Less Cookbook.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
To total cost for 12 muffins (we ate 8)
was <b>$1.78</b>.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The cost of the coffee share <b>$1.52</b>.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Total cost of $3.27.</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Breakfast was late again.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Very Late.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Adam resumed working on the bus and I
finished moving around plants, cleaned the kitchen, and started the
weekly task of baking bread.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
My new favorite bread recipe is the
Basic Bread from <u>Make the Bread, Buy the Butter</u> by Jenifer
Reese. It involves scooping a bunch of ingredients in a bowl, giving
it a stir and dumping it into a loaf pan for a few hours to rise. To
cost per loaf, is <b>$0.60</b>.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I also started the process of making
Pork Liver Pat<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">é</span>.
I first experimented with pat<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">é,
when I purchased</span> a few whole chickens, cut it into
pieces, and froze all but the livers. It was delicious. This
spring, a friend and I split the cost of a whole hog, and we also
requested to get the organs.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Why not try Pork Liver Pat<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">é</span>?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Pork Liver ($2.85)
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Onion (CSA)
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Garlic (CSA)
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Sage (from the garden)
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Half and Half ($0.09)
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Brandy (from an old stash I keep for
Christmas Cookies)
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Cost $2.94</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
To be honest, I'm
not sure that I like the pork liver pat<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">é</span>.
Some cuts of pork have this smell that I can not stand, pork chops
and some times even roast, and the pat<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">é</span>
has that same underlying aroma. I put it in the fridge to chill and
hope the sage and brandy will dominate that porky, pig smell.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The kids snack on
carrots, pears and apples (CSA).
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We take an
afternoon trip to the library and then head to a coffee shop. The
kids split a GIANT macaroon (<b>$2.00</b>) while we read our new
books.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I head off to yoga
class and leave Adam in charge of kids and dinner.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The kids eat
slices of fresh bread.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Adam approves of
the paté.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">To expedite the remainder of the meal, Adam pulls Costco Pot Stickers out of the freezer and cooks up the remainder of a partial bag. By the time I return, he is back to working on the bus and the kids have built a giant fort in the front yard. I think the cost of the Pot Stickers was about $10.00 and this was the third meal from that purchase. Let's estimate the cost of the meal was <b>$4.00 with the the dipping sauce.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
The
total food cost for the day, including the daily cost of the CSA, was
<b>$14.85</b>. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: yellow;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b style="background-color: yellow;"><a href="https://www.givegab.com/p2p/feed-the-cfac-dsd-fund/adelheid-west" target="_blank">Support My Fundraiser HERE</a></b><br />
<br /></div>
<h3>
Monday: SNAP Challenge Day 6</h3>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Today, we blew it. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There was no school. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I enrolled the kids in a comedy day camp at the Missoula Community Theater. It cost me $50 per kid. I earned just over that working, today, and I am lucky enough to have a job that pays more than a living hourly wage. I know the SNAP challenge is about access to food, but we can't ignore the lack of access to affordable quality childcare options in our community. While we are talking about child care, lets also mention health care and affordable housing. Not one of these can be considered alone.<br />
<br />
These are basic life needs. <br />
<br />
For years I wondered what was I doing wrong, or what was wrong with me, that these were things that I couldn't attain and couldn't provide? I have no student debt, but maybe I just majored in the wrong things? (Yes, things. I have multiple undergraduate degrees.) Got the wrong advanced degree? Moved to the wrong town? Married the wrong person? Had children at the wrong time? Where was the choice that resulted not being able to afford basic things? I was sucked into this myth of personal responsibility that keeps us isolated, ashamed, voiceless and un-empowered. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Last night, the kids packed their own lunches: left over Mac and Cheese, fresh fruits and veggies, and for an additional snack, the left over muffins from Sunday Breakfast. Their meals, and our lunches, invisible in our daily food budget. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Adam and I both run from work to their comedy skit performance at the end of the day and once we are all piled in the car, there is less than an hour until I needed to be at the Monday night city council meeting. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The kids asked for Taco Sano. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We relent. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It was the second time we have eaten there in almost 9? years of living in Missoula. Our fridge is full of beets and chard and eggplant and there is half a loaf of fresh bread, but sometimes I just don't have the brain space to manage it all - or the time.<br />
<br />
For the past two years, I have pretty much keep our family on the same budget we were on while receiving SNAP. When I initially started working, and I subtracted the SNAP benefit we lost, we netted a $120 a month. Because, I could fit my work hours into the time my kids were at Head Start and public school, it was a choice that made sense. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Kind of. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We paid <b>$25</b> for a quick dinner. Add to that the daily cost of the CSA (with Double SNAP Dollars <b>$2.04</b>) and the cost for breakfast <b>$2.86</b>, which brings the total spent on food today to <b>$29.90</b>.<br />
<br />
I wish I could say, that being able to spend $30 on food in a day, and having transitioned off of SNAP benefits makes me feel secure, more certain of a future. For the past few years I have been struggling to put words to this guttural reaction that I have every time I hear a person, from politician to friend, talk about people in poverty.<br />
There is something wrong.<br />
We are having the wrong conversation.<br />
This isn't about getting a job to get off of food stamps.<br />
This isn't about being smarter with personal finances.<br />
This isn't about gaining access to health care by opting in to your employers health insurance plan.<br />
This isn't really about making better food choices.<br />
These are all small parts of an incomplete and broken whole.<br />
<br />
I don't know where to start, except to say: "You are talking about me."<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2913866978063926009.post-41023903761314213042017-09-24T10:10:00.000-06:002017-09-24T10:22:15.498-06:00#SNAPchallenge Day 4I haven't ventured outside or changed clothes since I got up Saturday morning.<br />
<br />
Yesterday I went through the annual ritual of cleaning and rearranging the house to accommodate all of the house plants moving back into our living space. By the time I looked at the clock is was 5:30 and I figure I might as well spend the rest of the day in pajamas.<br />
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The whole point of these posts and participating in the #SNAPchallenge is to raise money for Double SNAP Dollars, which doubles the purchasing power of SNAP benefits spent on fresh fruits and vegetables. So please, if you have the resources and value expanding access to fresh fruits and vegetables, take a moment to <span style="color: red;"><b><a href="https://www.givegab.com/p2p/feed-the-cfac-dsd-fund/adelheid-west" target="_blank">DONATE HERE!</a></b></span> My family has lots of practice cooking on a limited budget, because SNAP used to be our food budget. These posts might make it seem too easy, but it wasn't. I am calculating the Double SNAP Program into my daily expenditures, which helps a lot! I also have the benefit of being raised in a family that cooked and gardened, and receiving SNAP forced me to budget, plan, be creative and look for ways to supplement our "supplemental" benefits. <br />
<br />
For a late weekend <b>breakfast</b> we doubled the Puff Pancakes recipe and served them the options of Plum or Apricot Sauce. Puff pancakes have been a family favorite for years, and I posted the recipe <a href="http://happyoccidents.blogspot.com/2012/07/finally-recipes-all-most-all-recipes.html" target="_blank">HERE</a> back in 2012. It has survived the passage of time.<br />
4 eggs (4 x .25 = $1.00)<br />
1 cup flour (0.09)<br />
1 cup milk (0.25)<br />
Plum and Apricot Butters (practically free - lets estimate cost at $0.21 for sugar)<br />
Coffee (daily cost of our coffee share - $1.52)<br />
<b>Total Cost $3.07</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
In spite of being completely overwhelmed by my day to day, I have been canning a few of my favorite foods. I'm not sure if that grounds me in my day to day or just adds an extra layer of stress, but fruit sauces are simple and quick. We opened a jar of Plum and Apricot butter yesterday, and both of these were practically free. The apricots came from the small tree in our yard and the plums came from a neighbor. Canned fruit is expensive - organic canned fruit is ridiculous - and so, for years I have picked and canned, dried or frozen summer bounty. <br />
<br />
I halved and dried bags of plums, already made plum butter, and yesterday I canned 7 half pint jars of Chinese Plum Sauce. We use it as a dipping sauce for egg rolls or as an ingredient in stir fries for the cost of spices, sugar and half a cup of dried plums. The plums came from a neighbors tree. The kids picked them for me. I bought the spices a few days ago.. but I think the total cost of ingredients used came to somewhere around <b>$4.00</b>.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO8GFPuUr5EoLRJ48JWl3UC0zdgIwsZznQoaHyOug2WlZRwO-K4vwkBeX9sJ0NhFZ1avMypflZ03uaPsU_4JSv5AAF2CBoiwgxcM2g9jD6_qWpepAG_y6asLoOL-cXioe_g8yn1Q0TsU4d/s1600/IMG_4750.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO8GFPuUr5EoLRJ48JWl3UC0zdgIwsZznQoaHyOug2WlZRwO-K4vwkBeX9sJ0NhFZ1avMypflZ03uaPsU_4JSv5AAF2CBoiwgxcM2g9jD6_qWpepAG_y6asLoOL-cXioe_g8yn1Q0TsU4d/s400/IMG_4750.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
We had such a late breakfast, that lunch turned into <b>snacks</b>.<br />
Milk ($0.50)<br />
Carrots (CSA)<br />
Apples (CSA)<br />
Tortillas ($0.60)<br />
Cheese ($0.64)<br />
<b>Total Cost $1.74</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Sylvan requested mac and cheese for <b>dinner</b>. Made from scratch mac and cheese is one of my favorite, quick recipes that has great left overs. I have included <a href="http://happyoccidents.blogspot.com/2013/04/5-meatless-family-favorites-using-wic.html" target="_blank">the recipe</a> in past posts as a good way to use up WIC eligible ingredients. I left out the Worcestershire Sauce, because we were out, and I was still in pajamas and there was no way I was going to leave the house.<br />
1 lb pasta ($1.38)<br />
butter ($0.54)<br />
flour ($0.04)<br />
milk ($0.25)<br />
cheddar cheese ($1.28)<br />
corn (CSA)<br />
salad (CSA daily cost with Double SNAP Dollars $2.04)<br />
pork roast (left over from a weeknight, slow-cooker dinner)<br />
<b>Total Dinner Cost $5.53</b><br />
<br />
Just as I was headed to bed, after folding the most ridiculous pile of laundry, Adam came inside from applying the first cost of finish to most of the school bus floor. He turned on the burners on the stove for a late night snack.<br />
2 tortillas ($0.30)<br />
left over pork roast and gravy<br />
<br />
The total daily cost of our food today, and a little food that is stashed away on the shelf for later: <b>$14.64</b>.<br />
<br />
The prickly pots of cacti still need a home. They usually end up on the only south window sill in the kid's bedroom. I spent all day organizing the downstairs, and taking those plants upstairs, will start another ripple effect. Right now, I am promising myself, that I will change clothes and leave the house, prior to my 5:30 yoga class.Heidi Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06330380296772961715noreply@blogger.com0Missoula, MT, USA46.878717599999987 -113.9965859999999846.705049099999989 -114.31930949999997 47.052386099999985 -113.67386249999998tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2913866978063926009.post-27576223022971451662017-09-23T10:50:00.001-06:002017-09-23T11:45:20.928-06:00#SNAPchallenge Day 2 and 3 <div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I gave myself permission to delay
posting about day 2.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Day 2 was the day of the Northside
vs. Westside Softball Challenge with I helped organize. There are
still a few banners in the car that need to delivered back to the
game's sponsors, but other than that, it is over. It is a fundraising event for the <a href="http://www.nmcdc.org/" target="_blank">North-Missoula Community Development Corporation</a>, and I still need to tally up the final expenditures and earnings, but overall it was a success. The Westside won 18 – 9.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Back to the #SNAPcallenge and food
related issues.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Breakfast was oatmeal. Oatmeal is a
perfect breakfast choice for my family of picky breakfast eaters
because it is easily customizable. Adam and I eat it as a savory
dish topped with onion, cheese, eggs and greens, while the children
opt for brown sugar and cinnamon.
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDDGzF5FcRAbJehRn-NNZInXjEB0fCmQDWNBWXBC29757vhFaFDnNuGetmPulqOTNVePZlsCRMlPoLhni3AoVlMBiUr_6xTOHImyFZiHRpab1XDjvMzJ1339wCTjNZoKC43wP6WRaDY-Cj/s1600/IMG_4741.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDDGzF5FcRAbJehRn-NNZInXjEB0fCmQDWNBWXBC29757vhFaFDnNuGetmPulqOTNVePZlsCRMlPoLhni3AoVlMBiUr_6xTOHImyFZiHRpab1XDjvMzJ1339wCTjNZoKC43wP6WRaDY-Cj/s400/IMG_4741.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Oatmeal (4 x .043 = $0.172)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Cheese (0.16 x 2 = $0.32)
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Eggs (0.21x 3 = $0.75)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Swiss Chard (CSA)
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Brown Sugar (4 tablespoons = $0.096)
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Coffee (cost of my coffee share per day
is $1.52)
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Total cost of breakfast $2.86 for a
family of 4.</b><br />
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Adam and I both packed tomato pie for
lunch and the kids ate at school.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
After school, I gave the kids 5 dollars
and sent them to the Missoula Community Food Co-op. “Buy something
healthy,” I said, and they came back with a miniature chocolate bar
and Annie's Gummy Bunnies. Not quite what I had meant. <b>Snack
Cost: $4.00</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
They also had
apples (CSA), so not all of the snacks were forms of sugar wrapped in
packaging. And I grabbed a slice of cheese on my way in and out of
the door ($0.32).
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We ate dinner at the Softball Game...
we set up a propane grill and sold hotdogs, cucumber salad, chips and
an assortment of drinks and candy to folks who attended the event.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Hot dogs are a totally legit dinner
option, and because I did some of the shopping for the event I am
going to use the per unit cost of hot dogs and buns rather than the
price it would have cost to buy them at the event. Usually, if hot dogs appear on our dinner table, it a special treat, synonymous with lighting a fire in our fire pit.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw_NhSG_qedoHdAqf_ezWyTkVjY955913mxcanXkwQRopSljTzkIiDRo6REdrwxqZw17ccR9CWqPPaG9dnS8lF5pfvlUYMA0F8RV9CWKNIL-2BxoDv5CxOn6Nm9NJ3-RHBmRUUlxdmBayp/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw_NhSG_qedoHdAqf_ezWyTkVjY955913mxcanXkwQRopSljTzkIiDRo6REdrwxqZw17ccR9CWqPPaG9dnS8lF5pfvlUYMA0F8RV9CWKNIL-2BxoDv5CxOn6Nm9NJ3-RHBmRUUlxdmBayp/s400/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Dinner was not healthy. Let's not
pretend. I was running around like crazy making sure everything was
going correctly (and it did) but I let the kids make minor food
decisions on their own.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Skittles (I made them share - $1)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Soda (I made them share - $1)
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Hotdog Buns (4 x 0.38 = $1.52)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Hotdogs (4 x 0.35 = $1.39)
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Potato Chips (4 x 0.16 = $0.62)
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Total Dinner Cost $5.53</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Total Cost</b> for the Day 2 was
$12.71<b> </b>plus the per
day cost of the CSA<b> $14.75. </b>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<h2>
SNAP Challenge Day 3.</h2>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I let the children sleep in, to
recuperate from the late night at the game.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Breakfast happened in two shifts. Adam
and I ate first and when the kids woke I made them breakfast as well.
<br />
3 tortillas (0.15 x 3 = $0.45)<br />
4 eggs (0.25 x 4 = $1.00)<br />
cheese (0.16 x 2 = $0.32)<br />
Coffee (cost of my coffee share per day $1.52)<br />
Oatmeal (4 x 0.043 = $0.172)<br />
Brown Sugar (4 tablespoons = $0.096)<br />
<b>Total Cost for Breakfast $3.56</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Adam took the last piece of Tomato Pie
for lunch along with a handful of plums (CSA). I forgot to pack
lunch and by the time I came home to meet the kids I was almost
shaky. They of course, had lunch at school. It is pretty normal
that I run from thing to thing and forget to eat... not the best
habit. I ended up with an extra kiddo at my house for a bit and we
all needed a snack. Tortillas and cheese it was. I cooked tortilla
after tortilla and melted cheese, cut wedges and piled them on the
table.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Tortillas (0.15 x 8 = $1.20)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Cheese (0.16 x 4 = $0.64)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Apples (CSA)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Total Snack cost $1.84. </b>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I ran off to meet some friends after
Adam came home and left him in charge of dinner. For <b>Dinner</b> he served the left over
slow cooker Potato Leek Soup that I had made a few days before. I
will not include the cost of it here, for consistency, but with the
exception of a few pieces of bacon and the broth, it was made entirely
from CSA ingredients. The soup was served with a side of salad.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Lettuce (CSA)
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Tomatoes (CSA)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Carrots (CSA)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Cucumbers (CSA per day cost $2.04 with
Double SNAP Dollars).</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Total Dinner cost $2.04. </b>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>SNAP Challenge day 3 total is $7.44.</b><br />
<br />
The low day to day expenditures on food require that most of our meals are made from scratch or almost from scratch. Over the years I have acquired a few cookbooks I return to again and again. I also heavily rely on googling combinations of food that are found in my fridge at a given time. The main thing that keeps me going: an over inflated sense of confidence that I can make something for nothing. It has gotten my this far.<br />
<br />
Some of my favorite cook books:<br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Make-Bread-Buy-Butter-Shouldnt-ebook/dp/B004T4KXMS" target="_blank">Make the Bread, Buy the Butter</a><br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Dinner-Story-begins-family-table/dp/0062080903/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1506186923&sr=8-1&keywords=dinner+a+love+story" target="_blank">Dinner: A Love Story</a><br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Betty-Crockers-Cookbook-Everything-Bridal/dp/0764563262/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1506186988&sr=8-2&keywords=betty+crocker+bridal+edition+cookbook" target="_blank">Betty Crockers Cookbook: Bridal Edition</a><br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Good-Cheap-Eat-Well-Day/dp/0761184996/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1506187040&sr=8-1&keywords=cheap+and+good+cookbook" target="_blank">Good and Cheap (which is what the pictures in the post are) </a><br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Canning-New-Generation-Flavors-Modern/dp/1584798645/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8" target="_blank">Canning for a New Generation</a><br />
<br />
Please consider donating to my Double SNAP Dollars Fundraiser by clicking <b><span style="color: red;"><a href="https://www.givegab.com/p2p/feed-the-cfac-dsd-fund/adelheid-west" target="_blank">HERE!!!</a></span></b></div>
Heidi Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06330380296772961715noreply@blogger.com0Missoula, MT, USA46.878717599999987 -113.9965859999999846.705049099999989 -114.31930949999997 47.052386099999985 -113.67386249999998tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2913866978063926009.post-25958838169703912242017-09-21T06:35:00.001-06:002017-09-21T08:45:58.434-06:00#SNAPchallenge Day 1<div class="MsoNormal">
We got up a little earlier than usual. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today was <a href="https://www.missoulainmotion.com/onelesscar" target="_blank">ONE LESS CAR DAY</a> in Missoula and rode my bike down
to the end of the street to walk back through the neighborhood and scoop up
kids along the way. I wore cloth shoes
and it rained, but the rain has finally cleared the wildfire smoke from the
air, and everyone was in good spirits. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Breakfast</b> was
quick. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
4 tortillas (0.15 x 4 = $0.60)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
5 eggs (0.25 x 5 = $1.25) <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2 ounces of cheddar cheese (0.16 x 2 = $0.32) <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Coffee (cost of my coffee share per day $1.52) <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cherry Tomatoes (FREE – no really – I have been saving these
seeds for 5 years now. These were
tomatoes that volunteered in my yard when we moved to our house and I have replanted
them every year since. I grow them for
the cost of water, except I have a flat rate water bill that doesn’t change
based on use… so we will just call them
FREE!)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Total Breakfast Cost:
$3.69 for a family of 4 <o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wet shoes and all, I walked to the Clay Studio to get a few
hours of work in before heading to my Wednesday City Council Committee
Meetings. I am working on a custom order
of mugs that are forcing me to branch out from my usual shapes and patterns. It is fun and challenging. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCdKbHTtqbq_hMeq9_2sjrCoyg0szhPFU7j3lYyTGuQE8tDejYccnAjR4tKWa-FYHFdewYLE5TkIRtsqIW7LaTgwc8MtwVoLV_1MO2HJzFpXBdGL448aL8QId-HPXOHp4RAH1SQeWUvrrv/s1600/IMG_4719.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCdKbHTtqbq_hMeq9_2sjrCoyg0szhPFU7j3lYyTGuQE8tDejYccnAjR4tKWa-FYHFdewYLE5TkIRtsqIW7LaTgwc8MtwVoLV_1MO2HJzFpXBdGL448aL8QId-HPXOHp4RAH1SQeWUvrrv/s400/IMG_4719.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Lunch</b> was equally
quick and poor planning on my part. I
should have just packed a lunch last night and saved myself a commuting trip. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1 tortilla (0.15) <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Left over pulled pork (from Adam’s staff party) <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Salsa (0.12) <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Total Lunch Cost: $0.27
(for myself – Adam packed left overs) <o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For tracking purposes, I will track the cost of food when I
prepare it. We often eat/pack left overs
for lunch and their costs will be recorded the first time a meal is
served. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Both of our kids are now in school and it is a Title 1
school. An overwhelming percentage of
our student body is low income and therefore all students have the option of a
free school lunch. Both of my kids often
choose to participate in the lunch program.
Direct effect on my food budget = $0.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I did purchase a coffee during the city council meetings –
for transparency I am mentioning it – but am not tracking it as a food
purchase. Why do you ask? During the time that received SNAP benefits. I had a separate, very modest monthly budget
for coffee purchases at coffee shops.
Unlike coffee, the ingredient, purchased at a grocery store, coffee
purchased at a coffee shop is not an eligible SNAP expense. I allowed myself the small luxury of guilt free coffee shop purchases, because I realized that I needed a mental
health break during my week. So, so many
blog posts on this blog were written in that setting and the kids and I were all so much better off for that small expense. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Snack<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Popcorn (0.15) </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Popped from bulk kernels. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Dinner </b>was a
summer favorite. Tomato Pie. The basic recipe can be found <a href="http://happyoccidents.blogspot.com/2012/09/of-mess-and-zen.html" target="_blank">here</a>, but I omitted sour cream and sugar, and reduced the milk to half a cup. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tomatoes (CSA share) <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Basil (CSA share) <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Onion (CSA share – I purchased a <a href="https://www.wmgcoop.com/csa-1/" target="_blank">CSA share</a> this spring. <b>The
price I paid for the averages out to a daily cost during the season of $4.07,
but I purchased it from a vendor that participates in the Double SNAP
Program. This would reduce the per day
cost of fresh fruits and vegetables delivered each week to $2.04 per day. That is amazing. I just used Tomato, Basil and Onions in a pie
for a total cost of $2.04</b>. My next
CSA delivery is tomorrow and I still have beets, carrots, and chard from last
week.) <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Milk (0.07)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cheddar Cheese (4 ounces x .15 per ounce = 0.60) <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Egg (0.50) <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Flour (0.09) <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Butter (0.7)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Total Cost for
Dinner: $3.65 for a family of 4 with leftovers<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Total for the Day: $7.76<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Quick note on price calculations: If they are items I purchased recently I am using receipts to calculate per item cost. For pantry items (flour etc..) I am googling the costs based on volume used.<br />
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Even I am surprised by the daily amount spent! <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The low amount of funds spent on
meals is LARGELY the result from the ability purchase a CSA share through the
Double SNAP Dollars program. The cost of
tomatoes alone starts at $3 per pound, onions often range around $1 per pound,
and basil is pricy… and I multiple pounds tomatoes, a giant onion, and a
liberal handful of basil… Suddenly one tomato pie hoovers in the $10 - $13 range. That is
a huge difference if the daily food budget is a total of $20. <o:p></o:p><br />
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: red;"><b><a href="https://www.givegab.com/p2p/feed-the-cfac-dsd-fund/adelheid-west" target="_blank">SUPPORT DOUBLE SNAP DOLLARS BY CLICKING HERE </a></b></span></h3>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
End of SNAP Challenge Day 1!<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Heidi Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06330380296772961715noreply@blogger.com1Missoula, MT, USA46.878717599999987 -113.9965859999999846.705049099999989 -114.31930949999997 47.052386099999985 -113.67386249999998tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2913866978063926009.post-31862123472670874422017-09-20T00:00:00.000-06:002017-09-20T13:32:43.763-06:00Lets Add to the Insanity of the 2KL4SKL Bus Project: The SNAP Challenge<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, we bought a school bus.</div>
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I'm hoping its not the worst decision
we have ever made.</div>
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Adam has slowly, much too slowly been
morphing it into, what hopefully will be a living space. </div>
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<br /></div>
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And I have
been trying to pack up our house, sew a million curtains, and keep
life normal. We have successfully (what is success anymore??)
been navigation the line somewhere between a mess and a disaster.
</div>
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<br /></div>
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Some days I drop both of the kids off
at the bus stop, other days I drop off one at the bus stop while the
other would rather hold my hand the whole way, since I walk
past the school on my way to work anyway. We always arrive just at the front
just as the buses pull up to the back.
</div>
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<br /></div>
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I spend more than I ever imagined
staring at a computer screen, navigating an entirely new and foreign
world of a federally funded affordable housing project. Damn, that
shit is complicated.
</div>
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<br /></div>
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Late August, I received an email about
participating in the Community Food and Agriculture Coalition's SNAP Challenge to raise funds for the Double
SNAP Dollars program that, true to it's name, doubles the value of
SNAP benefits spent on fresh fruits and vegetables at participating
locations. So, SNAP is the snazzy acronym for Supplemental Nutrition
Assistance Program (formally known as Food Stamps), and the challenge
is to have folks to pledge to live on a limited food budget for a
week. The guidelines are to spend $5 per person per day. For my
family of four my budget is that is $20 per day. Which now, as I'm
putting it in writing sounds a little wrong - pledge a week to eat
like a poor person – a strange kind of class appropriation, except
for years I didn't eat like a poor person, I was a poor person.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I started this blog, in part, to
indirectly talk about poverty in America.
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<br /></div>
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So of course, I'm in.
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First thing first:</div>
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<br /></div>
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SNAP. <b>Supplemental</b> Nutrition
Assistance Program. The program is miss-named. For many, including
my family, this SNAP wasn't a supplement to an existing food budget.
It is the food budget.
</div>
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Second thing second:</div>
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SNAP can be spent on <b>FOOD PLANTS</b>!
This is a less widely promoted benefit of the SNAP. I was unaware
for the first year or two, but as soon as I figured it out, I planted
entire gardens using SNAP benefits to purchase seeds and starts.
</div>
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Third and best of all:</div>
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Participating locations in Missoula
(farmers markets, a few CSAs, and the Food Coop) will <b>DOUBLE</b> <b>SNAP benefits</b>.<br />
Wow.<br />
What?<br />
So cool.<br />
Every summer, I would turn my
SNAP benefits into wooden tokens, spend those devoted to fruits and
vegetables, and hoard a few tokens into a small
stockpile (and an accounting nightmare for those who track the
tokens) until I had set aside to buy a bulk purchase of pork from the
Farm to Market Pork vendor.<br />
Why?<br />
Because it was a way to budget and
bulk purchases are cheaper. When you buy more than 20 lbs of meat
there is a discount. Buying in bulk is not always an option when the
daily budget is $5 per person per day. But, when
SNAP benefits spent on Fruits and Vegetables, go twice as far it opens the remainder of the supplement up to so many creative possibilities. In
addition to bulk pork purchases, there are the cases seconds tomatoes
and peaches that I canned and lined my kitchen with and lasted far
beyond the summer season. </div>
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These days, I work one just over half
time job, hold an elected office that has a stipend and provides health
insurance for Adam and I, <a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/SticksnStonesWrkshp" target="_blank">sell my pottery</a>, and Adam works full time.
We no longer receive SNAP, but our food budget and habits haven't
changed much since those days, and I am still regularly drowning in
the anxiety of my day to day.
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Our SNAP challenge starts, the
20<sup>th</sup> and ends the 27<sup>th</sup>.
</div>
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I will try to post along the way....
you can follow along... </div>
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And you can have a positive impact on people's lives by increasing access to healthy food choices.. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It can be found here:
<br />
<br />
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.givegab.com/p2p/feed-the-cfac-dsd-fund/adelheid-west"><span style="color: #cc0000;">My Double SNAP Dollars Fundraiser</span></a></h2>
</div>
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</div>
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My goal is to raise $1000. (My secret
goal is to raise twice that.. but shhh... )
<br />
The overall goal is to raise $16,000, which results in a purchasing power worth $32,000 to be spent on fresh fruits and vegetables. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Lets talk about food, food access, and
poverty. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Oh, and lets also talk about how cool are vanity plates are that arrived for the school bus today: 2KL4SKL! </div>
Heidi Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06330380296772961715noreply@blogger.com0Missoula, MT, USA46.878717599999987 -113.9965859999999846.705049099999989 -114.31930949999997 47.052386099999985 -113.67386249999998tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2913866978063926009.post-21282285161712219802017-08-25T19:03:00.000-06:002017-08-29T13:07:06.328-06:00The Great American Solar Eclipse 2017: A Moment Among MomentsStrong, cold wind blows down the beach, the water is so cold my toes tingled and the kids still get soaked from head to toe, splashing in the space between solid land and sea.<br />
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The kids shriek and run. They gather up rocks, poke at pieces of jelly fish, and these moments alone would have been worth the drive. The moments with friends and the most decadent camping food, in the history of camping, would have been worth the drive. <br />
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<br />
But, the excuse for this trip, is a moment 1 minute and 55 seconds in length.<br />
<br />
Intellectually, I had been prepared for this moment.<br />
<br />
We had listened to podcasts, heard other people's stories, shushed the children on the eleven hour drive split between two days: "Shhh!!! Listen, to this story. They are talking about what we are about to see."<br />
<br />
"Don't look at the sun without your glasses. It's dangerous."<br />
<br />
The sun was bright, the temperature dropped, our shadows become duplicate, the spaces between the leaves turned into a thousand pinhole cameras, and then the light rolled in waves.<br />
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Emotionally, I was completely unprepared.<br />
<br />
In an instant the moon and sun became one and neither was recognizable. I dropped to my knees and found myself staring into the space that just moments before had been the sun, it felt as though my whole being was being drawn into the center of our solar system, looking past the center, at the bright dot of Venus on its orbit beyond the sun.<br />
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Time stood still. <br />
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Time moved too fast. <br />
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People cheered and it was a moment we all shared, and yet I have never felt so void of my own physical presence.<br />
<br />
Much too quickly a blinding flash of light shot back into view and the process reversed. The light rolled across the ground and the shadow crescents mirrored those before.<br />
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I yearned to be in the moment a little longer, but just as instant as the return to light had been, the physical was all too real and I realized just how long we had been staring, off and on, directly at the sun. The kids tugged at my arms. "Can we go?" "I'm hungry."<br />
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<br />
We order lunch and occasionally get up to check the progress of the sun across the sky. <br />
<br />
We dawdle on the way home. <br />
<br />
We drive through the forest, a dirt road edged by blackberries so thick that they blend reality with that found on the pages of a Tom Robbins novel, small state highways that lead us though small towns, past farm stands and, eventually deliver us into the endless golden expanse of wheat fields. <br />
<br />
Too soon, our route overlaps that of <a href="https://happyoccidents.blogspot.com/2014/08/hotspringing-in-idaho-celebrating-my.html" target="_blank">previous adventures</a> and we stop in at our ritual last destination before heading home. <br />
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Going home seems unusually hard. The sky is black and heavy with smoke and in passing we see trees silhouetted against pockets of flame on the hill side. We unload. The whole trip seems surreal. The proof we went somewhere, saw something, is the giant pile of dirty laundry spread out across the floor, a large box of canning peaces on my kitchen counter, and the knowledge I now know at least one way to cook clams.</div>
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<h3>
Steamed Clams - AKA Best Damn Camping Food Ever </h3>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I had never, ever cooked clams before. I don't live by a coast and they always look terrifying when I quickly walk past them at the grocery store seafood counter. We stopped at a seafood market, looking for oysters, and because it is the wrong season we brought back 5 pounds of clams.... and I got a much needed cooking lesson.<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">6 cloves of garlic (thinly sliced)</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">2 sticks of butter </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">1 bottle of white wine</span></div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">heat the butter in a large pot and add garlic</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">pour the entire bottle of wine into the pot, bring to a rolling boil, let it boil for a while</span></li>
</ul>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">5 lbs (more or less) clams</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Salt to Taste</span><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>pour the clams in the pot, add a good solid shake of salt, put a lid on the pot and bring it back to a rolling boil</li>
<li>while the clams are boiling/steaming chop a parsley</li>
</ul>
<div>
1 bunch of parsley </div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Stir a few times, and make sure the clams have opened.. add parsley and serve with bread (toasted/grilled if possible)</li>
</ul>
<div>
Lemon? </div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>there might have been a squeeze or two of lemon involved. I'm not certain... there definitely was lots of laughter, my rowdy kids, good friends and a few beers - so, not sure on the lemon... but it certainly can't be bad. </li>
</ul>
</div>
<div>
NOTE: If a clam didn't open while cooking, DON'T eat it. No one wants to find out what happens when you eat unopened clams. </div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Heidi Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06330380296772961715noreply@blogger.com1Lincoln City, OR, USA44.958164400000008 -124.017891444.778417900000008 -124.34061489999999 45.137910900000008 -123.6951679tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2913866978063926009.post-1256002121471438612017-08-02T19:50:00.000-06:002017-08-29T13:08:17.990-06:00The Weeks of Cherries <div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">For an entire week our mornings and evenings were filled with the chink, chink, chink of cherry pits. </span></div>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizW2dOM_arnq1rwC8UiqxEZa2hXs1e95k9fYdGck6v1izgASURfb1cgQ8LoBGz2XyfWqtIYzlriY3oPMRvEFLyUSLoc7k61HZBYOpVqWlfAZ-qOLqPvoGwCn-zr2u0yJf169nYvpItxG8w/s1600/IMG_4511.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizW2dOM_arnq1rwC8UiqxEZa2hXs1e95k9fYdGck6v1izgASURfb1cgQ8LoBGz2XyfWqtIYzlriY3oPMRvEFLyUSLoc7k61HZBYOpVqWlfAZ-qOLqPvoGwCn-zr2u0yJf169nYvpItxG8w/s320/IMG_4511.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Two cherry pies, cherry <a href="http://happyoccidents.blogspot.com/2012/07/red-currant-cream-cheese-danish.html" target="_blank">danishes</a>, and quart bags of pitted cherries are in the freezer. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkg4SfHoPpDwMIrBnnixnSB0-Yd5VALnsIsj9nxy4tOWBRxJd2JouY2H5VYtDrdaoE2MIDV9nVFkfbeQPNWhlaiG2RkiMehtG6TAX7pCry0uwkb4AufnG9Z60xUKm2IUj86ZH0xDBUi9cA/s1600/IMG_4514.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkg4SfHoPpDwMIrBnnixnSB0-Yd5VALnsIsj9nxy4tOWBRxJd2JouY2H5VYtDrdaoE2MIDV9nVFkfbeQPNWhlaiG2RkiMehtG6TAX7pCry0uwkb4AufnG9Z60xUKm2IUj86ZH0xDBUi9cA/s320/IMG_4514.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Jars of apple cherry jam are on the shelf. </span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-f4c318ff-a5bc-f2ea-c8b6-5f26c9ad3470" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="http://happyoccidents.blogspot.com/2013/07/colors-of-summer.html" target="_blank">Once a year</a> we drive up to Finley Point to pick cherries in the summer sun and then jump into the clear cold water of Flathead lake. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The silver fruit picking ladder gets warm in the sun and is almost to hot to touch against my skin as we move from one tree to the next. The sticky, sweet, dark red juice runs down my fingers as I fill the same basket over and over, carrying it up and down the ladder, and we fill the cardboard boxes we brought along. The kids pick cherries for a while, and then get distracted and sprawl on blankets, eating lunch and running through a sprinkler the owner’s of the orchard left on. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdkpn8YB7VrW23JL1rFxT5YUNWSJTwB6nbNCA9Qb5ji5TTh0aVjavHwLVqT9w5BSZeqLUdxhWZLdnB1cuYu0WIN0dJJ18PdwHV4zF58EF5c4NpoVc6ghx6JR7puyJQGBkHX-YdiTnqxuE_/s1600/IMG_4501.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdkpn8YB7VrW23JL1rFxT5YUNWSJTwB6nbNCA9Qb5ji5TTh0aVjavHwLVqT9w5BSZeqLUdxhWZLdnB1cuYu0WIN0dJJ18PdwHV4zF58EF5c4NpoVc6ghx6JR7puyJQGBkHX-YdiTnqxuE_/s320/IMG_4501.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Between my feet and the ground, between where I stand on the ladder and where the children play, between here and now and an America I have never known, there hangs a shimmer of memory that is not my own. Around the edges of everything there is a halo that might just be something akin to descriptions by John Steinbeck or stories gathered and relayed by Studs Terkle. There might have been a time before corn rolled over fence rows, in which some people followed the harvests, knocked on doors, traded chores for buckets of milk, and slept in stranger’s barns and haystacks. It is a thought neither fact nor fiction.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9zYXYh-QU54X7HUR2YQzS7tsBqKLyg2qJkMLpAwzaV63kciI1LtQMTdK5PTTL6vMTWvFK8ryijjt_Qw3f8F-ycOmnaW46J8FqKTQesz_9_mfH4kulyZkcsxAhVQWHXatj8sAqcR1Jh8rd/s1600/IMG_4504.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9zYXYh-QU54X7HUR2YQzS7tsBqKLyg2qJkMLpAwzaV63kciI1LtQMTdK5PTTL6vMTWvFK8ryijjt_Qw3f8F-ycOmnaW46J8FqKTQesz_9_mfH4kulyZkcsxAhVQWHXatj8sAqcR1Jh8rd/s320/IMG_4504.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We have cherry pie for dessert and cherry pie for breakfast. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">These are a few of the fleeting weeks of summer. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_mMyNKinGp1wAZvqFziIMxtWMYM1kAkGG3_gVqpvt13XFpQ6S8svE1k6ixtaZpZwpZvQnUZztX-19mU790U-TAhLbiaFbJAPcdSdib8w8ddHbTaVMiJDFadqIIn98S6WxgUfPn0tJckgq/s1600/IMG_4502.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_mMyNKinGp1wAZvqFziIMxtWMYM1kAkGG3_gVqpvt13XFpQ6S8svE1k6ixtaZpZwpZvQnUZztX-19mU790U-TAhLbiaFbJAPcdSdib8w8ddHbTaVMiJDFadqIIn98S6WxgUfPn0tJckgq/s320/IMG_4502.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; white-space: normal;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There is still a large shallow box in the fridge with stemmed, firm, dark red cherries. </span></span></div>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; white-space: normal;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Handful, by handful content shrinks, but it is not yet gone. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Past Year's <a href="http://happyoccidents.blogspot.com/2013/07/colors-of-summer.html" target="_blank">Cherry Recipes</a>. </span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">
</span></div>
Heidi Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06330380296772961715noreply@blogger.com2Flathead Lake, Montana, USA47.9056393 -114.1155537000000247.2242063 -115.40644720000002 48.587072299999996 -112.82466020000003tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2913866978063926009.post-8276135549782170712017-07-13T20:09:00.000-06:002017-08-29T13:09:37.882-06:00That One Time I Tried to Put Words to a Series of Moments on my Daily CommuteThese days I am largely stuck driving to work, since I am juggling my husbands schedule, dropping off and picking up kids from friend's houses, unpredictable summer activities and all those other errands that have to happen. When I have to the opportunity, I usually choose to walk the 1.2 miles from my house to work. <br />
<br />
During the winter months, in the dark and snow, I ride the bus. The commute gives me an opportunity to interact, talk with, listen to, and observe folks I might never bump into otherwise. <br />
<br />
This is a series of non-fiction snap shots that crowded around in my head into I finally put them on paper. I entered it in the Missoula Public Library - 2017 Writing Contest, in a moment of boldness, that made my skin tingle, my heart pound and caused me anxiety for days...<br />
<br />
I didn't win.<br />
<br />
And even though the skin on my arms is already prickling and the heart pounding and anxiety is sure to follow, I am sharing my writing here:<br />
<br />
<br />
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
En Route</h3>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
The man across from me is holding onto the poll. I think he says something to me and I
don’t quite catch it. I lean forward to respond. He is practically dancing as the bus is
moving. <br />
He holds his walkman toward me and yells: “Sorry, can’t talk right now.
Listening to Led Zepplin.”<br />
I lean back against the seat. He bangs his head and kicks
the air. Jean jacket. Black backpack. Mullet. Walkman and earphones.<br />
<br />
The windows of the bus are splattered with tiny drops, caked across the surface of the
glass in layers to render the outside almost invisible. I am wearing both layers of my
coat, hat, gloves, boots and my thermal long underwear. I slide the hood of my coat
behind my neck. It is warm in here. A woman gets on and hoists herself up on the seat
across from me.<br />
Sneakers in the snow.<br />
Sweat pants in the driving wind.<br />
Wrapped
around her shoulders is a blanket, not the kind the kind that is woven and fringed and you might see on a hipster paired with cowboy boots and a smart hat, but the kind that
depicts a sports team and might be thrown in the corner of a dorm room. She pulls the
edges closed across her shoulders and around the front. I wonder if she has been
crying. She tucks her hair behind her ears. Does she need help? She actively avoids
eye contact. I start to say, are you okay, but then does one ask that across the aisle of
a crowded bus? We all filter out of the folding doors and disperse to other buses, down
sidewalks, and into buildings on our way to our respective places.
<br />
<br />
The man next to me smells.<br />
There is nowhere else to sit.<br />
People get off and there is room, but I don’t move.<br />
<br />
Big brown eyes keep looking at me from a white fur lined hood. “My daughter likes
you,” says a woman with a Hispanic accent. “She usually likes one thing, a purse, a
dress, but she says she likes everything about you.”<br />
“Hi,” I say. “Do you go to Headstart? My kids went to headstart too. The Brown Bear
class and the Rainbow Trout class. In which class are you?”<br />
She just looks at me.<br />
“They added full day classes”, her mom chimes in.<br />
“I am so glad to hear that”, and I genuinely am. I feel relief for her as the bus drives
away. I watch her hold her daughter’s hand as they walk along the sidewalk .<br />
<br />
“Does this bus go close to the Cracker Barrel?”, she asks.<br />
Dark hair pulled back. Thick
eyeliner. The kind I could never pull off. Her hands are fidgeting with a paper, it is a job
application, and a big bunch of keys.<br />
“I am new in town. I lost my keys. I had to pick
them up at the police office this morning. Just now. It’s my Audi. It has been at the
hotel all weekend. I am new in town.”<br />
Her eyes are brimming with tears.<br />
“That sounds terrible,” I say. “This bus goes to Reserve, but not as far north as the
Cracker Barrel.”<br />
“That’s okay, “ she replies, “I would walk miles to get there.”<br />
<br />
“I love the buses here”.<br />
A young man sits two seats down from me. He might have
been cute once. He is slightly unshaven, still has a bit of acne which leads me to think
he is younger than he looks, and he has no teeth that I can see.<br />
“Yesterday, I was at
the food stamp office with my babies’s mama, and the bus was running late. Two buses
were driving one in front of the other. It was so funny. The one we got on was totally
empty. They should have cancelled one. I love how bike friendly this town is.” He nods
at his bike mounted to the front of the bus.<br />
“My bike doesn’t do well in the wet and snow,” I respond, “the breaks just don’t work
right.”<br />
“He looks at me incredulously: “You haven’t tried to fix it?”<br />
“I have.”<br />
I am dying to know what happened to all his teeth, but I don’t ask, because
there is this unspoken rule that adults don’t ask each other these things.<br />
“I have four kids”, he goes on. “They are four and two and I have twins, but they don’t
live with me right now and I am working to get them back. Twins are hard, you can’t
change two diapers at once or feed them at the same time. I have another set of twins
in Washington state. They live with their mom… We didn’t even know if the babies
were mine and a friend of mine said twins run in the family and said to look into it.
Turns out my grandma’s sisters were twins and since twins run with the guy..”<br />
“Twins run with the mother,” the man across from us interjects. “I have three sets of
twins. I have nine kids.”<br />
I look at him in relief.<br />
“Excuse me”, chimes in the girl next to me.<br />
She is obviously an exchange student. She
might be from Japan.<br />
“My mom had me and my brother but we are not twins. So, I don’t
have a chance of having twins?” She giggles: “I mean twins are a good deal. You have
one pregnancy and get two babies, but…”<br />
She trails off and giggles again.<br />
It is
infectious.<br />
“Look a free couch,” the no-teeth man says gesturing out the window.<br />
“There are a few of them,” I joke, “I can’t fit them on the bus.”<br />
“Of course there are. In this neighborhood.”<br />
I pull the cord and get off.<br />
I don’t wonder what he means.<br />
<br />
A man gets on. He is tall and lanky and clean. He always has on the same sweatshirt.
It is black and has a white printed medallion that says something about a dance group.
You would almost think he wears it ironically. I think he is homeless.<br />
<br />
I own a car.<br />
<br />
It is still dark outside and I sink into my seat and flip open my book. I look around and
count the people on the bus: one, two and me. This is the first round of the day. They
both have their noses bent into books and I turn back to mine.<br />
<br />
<br />Heidi Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06330380296772961715noreply@blogger.com4Missoula, MT, USA46.878717599999987 -113.9965859999999846.705049099999989 -114.31930949999997 47.052386099999985 -113.67386249999998tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2913866978063926009.post-47289112196691596092017-07-12T13:24:00.000-06:002017-08-29T13:11:05.813-06:00Solid Ground <div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You know what's great about plants.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I don't know. What?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“That they are plants!!!” Sylvan
looks at me incredulously. “Don't you get it?”</div>
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Ivory shrugs, and eats a raspberry.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-91kKxjhZVVDOTbw6kqGZX3GLEcsmP5rit2AY7fgl8s7LjdKsYY2orjmkNOSNPhBRebMQOmAAmM-4cH9r9JTTSMgigK_FIbhXWe3ftSQiCs372Q5LYcB8Vpj_ONuq1qr86KcrP9wXKjEN/s1600/IMG_4467.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-91kKxjhZVVDOTbw6kqGZX3GLEcsmP5rit2AY7fgl8s7LjdKsYY2orjmkNOSNPhBRebMQOmAAmM-4cH9r9JTTSMgigK_FIbhXWe3ftSQiCs372Q5LYcB8Vpj_ONuq1qr86KcrP9wXKjEN/s320/IMG_4467.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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The sky is peach and glowing.
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We are sneaking a few raspberries at
dusk.</div>
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The kids are up, way to late, once
again.
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The three of us walked down the street
to water our garden plot.
</div>
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Adam is washing the dishes.
</div>
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The house is finally starting to cool
down.
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These fifteen minutes of my day are the
only ones that seem to echo the rhythm of past summers.
</div>
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I am trying to breathe – just breathe.
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The sky fades to dark.
</div>
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On the way home, I cradle a hand full
of raspberries to share.</div>
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Soon after, we fall into our beds, on
top of sheets and blankets.
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I feel like I am treading water –
cold icy water – that makes it hard to breathe.
</div>
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I could dip under any moment.
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My days and weeks are filled up.
</div>
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I run back and forth, back and forth,
drop off kids, pick up kids, bring them to work with me.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I count hours and try to figure out
where to fit in more.
</div>
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I relish the time when I can hang my
laundry on the line.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqwNSb9nCq5iQuBcW4eBsHnkeULizsczDxKH1v7NrYdPihOnAUS9yJaONxkLTRxvW5lQD5HeTKSl9n2s6YNX9w-3h9cj5jyY-aBG1JqDbv8zkZVzj-SuH71KO02dAWdPeDtwaJAlOpcUof/s1600/IMG_4461.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqwNSb9nCq5iQuBcW4eBsHnkeULizsczDxKH1v7NrYdPihOnAUS9yJaONxkLTRxvW5lQD5HeTKSl9n2s6YNX9w-3h9cj5jyY-aBG1JqDbv8zkZVzj-SuH71KO02dAWdPeDtwaJAlOpcUof/s320/IMG_4461.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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I make lists: work lists, house lists,
to do lists.
</div>
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I check lists: who needs what, when and
where.
</div>
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I forget lists... I forget to make
lists. </div>
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I don't make it to the grocery store.
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The kids and I drive across town.
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I have a free cup of coffee waiting for
me at a coffee shop and the kids share a bagel before morning swim
lessons. As we walk back to the car, my wildly
unpredictably moody pre-pre teen girl, reaches for my hand:</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Don't you ever wonder how the star
got inside the apple?”
</div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I breathe.
</div>
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In moments like these, I momentarily touch solid ground. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Life might be crazy, but everything is just fine.</div>
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Heidi Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06330380296772961715noreply@blogger.com4Missoula, MT, USA46.878717599999987 -113.9965859999999846.705049099999989 -114.31930949999997 47.052386099999985 -113.67386249999998tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2913866978063926009.post-57738652979662358342017-04-06T21:47:00.000-06:002017-08-29T13:11:54.441-06:00Knead and Rise I have been writing and re-writing an an artist statement to accompany my First Friday show at the Missoula Community Food Co-op. The official event is on April 7th, but my pots will be on display for the remainder of the month. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpIUVGXIzgvxymGWXAKZk7LwuPH0nNeqV675wjLL9l2jfDDU_VBXwG2g_xZoDBl1095XJgNvgyRNUzurrESezMdLY6g69QhdgSpp1PRqv4J9ySdsZv_9P32EqxqSa5Teey6uSxlbclQnp6/s1600/IMG_3940.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpIUVGXIzgvxymGWXAKZk7LwuPH0nNeqV675wjLL9l2jfDDU_VBXwG2g_xZoDBl1095XJgNvgyRNUzurrESezMdLY6g69QhdgSpp1PRqv4J9ySdsZv_9P32EqxqSa5Teey6uSxlbclQnp6/s320/IMG_3940.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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"This will be easy," I thought. After all, the wheat design carved onto the surface of my mugs, bowls and plates is an external expression of a more than a decade long ritual I have created for myself to process the news of violence and conflict present in our world. But still, the words to articulate feelings and motions are hard to construct.<br />
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I was 18 for 31 days when September 11th became a date marooned in the year 2001 and we entered a pre- and post- world. <br />
<br />
Slightly tipsy, from my first honey brown beer, at an elevation over 5000 ft, in my best friend's college dorm, I watched bright dots flashing across a night sky and I was struck by the surreal beauty of what could have been mistaken as fireworks on screen but what were in reality bombs over Bahgdad.<br />
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I graduated college with a peace sign on my cap listening to a president, who-was-not-my president, give our commencement speech. I got married, birthed a daughter, finished graduate school, moved across the country, gave birth to my son, bought a house and got a job. I plant and harvest my garden, wash laundry, cook meals and bake bread.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ6d7TwePSS71uRwHgZULAuX1mOF9qoQEoMLoVyuWbSND1cO7EBSDUGvlWCYQQmDg-ExiYK570HH7PlDltNULA7ptAoLQQUN_DCEXcuwcl9B99ugLest0YskUDNIOYjeNRF6ejEDBzHaJp/s1600/20170323_210724.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a>
I bake bread.<br />
<br />
I bake bread because it is an activity that I can do with my children, a moment we can share that nurtures both the body and soul.<br />
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I bake bread because there is something intensely grounding in the motions that connect me with women who kneaded warm elastic dough before me in their own places in time, with women whose houses I walk into and see plump freshly baked bread resting on the counter, and with women who engage in the same rhythm of knead, rise, knead, rise and bake all around the world. <br />
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Sometime, I bake out of rage, powerlessness, and desperation in an invisible and futile gesture of compassion.<br />
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This is Syria. <br />
This is Iraq.<br />
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This is where wheat originated.<br />
This is where, 10,000 years ago, ancient grasses became grain.<br />
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As I knead, I imagine that life must go on in a war zone the way life goes on everywhere. People fall in love, get married, have children, have hopes and dreams. People engage in the mundane tasks of everyday life: go to work, care for their children, do laundry, cook meals and bake bread - until those task of everyday life stop. STOP.<br />
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What then? <br />
<br />
What then becomes of hopes and dreams?<br />
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As our national rhetoric and even local politics devolves to the level of Muslim bans, the refusal of refugees, and the persecution of immigrants of all kinds, I carve wheat on the surfaces of my pottery.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0VWK4mHZw2EGyluYX-CoQWUV1JgG06Zm9uhiwZrg0pGe7I7V0Ebxm5PrQPbl1GJo3fGtw0EDGOZelpq1gFn4zL4Ket_cgpvjUGbqyC389pv7OORoznLL4dlhE9PFKjL8pYmsxbQJj3iAZ/s1600/IMG_3835.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0VWK4mHZw2EGyluYX-CoQWUV1JgG06Zm9uhiwZrg0pGe7I7V0Ebxm5PrQPbl1GJo3fGtw0EDGOZelpq1gFn4zL4Ket_cgpvjUGbqyC389pv7OORoznLL4dlhE9PFKjL8pYmsxbQJj3iAZ/s320/IMG_3835.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Wheat tells a story. <br />
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The origin of wheat from grasses in the fertile crescent, to an ubiquitous presence all around world, with long histories and varied uses across many cultures and within our own, the story of wheat is not a story about difference but it is a testament to just how much we share in common. </div>
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<br />Heidi Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06330380296772961715noreply@blogger.com3Missoula, MT, USA46.878717599999987 -113.9965859999999846.705049099999989 -114.31930949999997 47.052386099999985 -113.67386249999998tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2913866978063926009.post-70713377004180683702017-02-20T09:29:00.000-07:002017-08-29T13:12:27.748-06:00Legislative Committee Meeting Road Trip <div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Today is President's Day. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">This kids are off school, wrestling around the bedroom as I am typing, because sleeping in on a day when there is no school just is not an option. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">We are going on a road trip. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;">We are going to return to a few of our favorite Helena places. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: medium;">I might be bribing the kids a little bit, because I have an ulterior motive. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">We are making a quick jaunt over the pass to make an appearance at a legislative committee meeting to make a public comment on <a href="https://openstates.org/mt/bills/2017/HB361/">House Bill 361</a>. This bill revises the criteria for who is eligible for SNAP benefits cutting benefits for many low income Montanans while also costing the state upwards of $500,000. Go figure. I can only assume that the sponsoring legislator likes poor people even less than he likes being being fiscally responsible. Driving two hours to go speak for a few minutes about proposed legislation is a a new adventure for the three of us and I have to admit that I am pretty nervous. I spent the last three hours writing and rewriting my comment. Here is what I have come up with: </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Hi, my name is Heidi West. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">These are my children, Ivory and Sylvan. </span>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">House Bill 361 is not only fiscally irresponsible, but also displays an ignorance of the demographics, diversity and complexity of who and
why people are poor in Montana. This bill goes further than just
restricting access. It also undermines the judgment of
professionals who work with SNAP recipients and make a system work as well as it can, for as many people as possible. </span>
</div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">We are one of the many
families that depended on SNAP. From 2009 until 2015 I worried about
many things: I worried about holding onto 12 months worth of income
documentation for my LIEAP application, I worried about getting sick
with no access to health care, I worried about not providing enough
opportunity for my children; I worried about finding houses to rent
that we could afford but were also a safe; I worried about snow boots
and warm coats and occasionally toilet paper but I NEVER ONCE WORRIED
ABOUT HOW I WAS GOING TO FEED MY FAMILY. </span>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">SNAP benefits provide a
small but essential buffer between having a home and being homeless,
between being able to absorb an unforeseen expense and disaster, they
are what allow thousands of Montanans to make it through each day and
hope that though hard work, creativity, patience and planning they
will create the right combination of opportunity and success to
provide for themselves. </span>
</div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Low income individuals,
and especially low income women and children, are members of a
largely voiceless and under-represented demographic. In legislatures
around the country, the value of lives is degraded into
conversations about drug tests, sugary drinks and more generally the
idea that SNAP recipients are undeserving. </span><span style="font-size: medium;">The people that are being
spoken about in these legislative proposals, are me. </span><span style="font-size: medium;">There is no accurate stereotype of who a SNAP recipient is: they
are moms and dads, they are kids, disabled folks, and people who for some
reason or another are in challenging times; t</span><span style="font-size: medium;">hey could be your
waiter, your kid's preschool teacher, your friends and your neighbors.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">You have the opportunity
and responsibility, to give voice to the voiceless and to represent
the whole spectrum of Montana citizenry – maintain access to SNAP
benefits and let Health and Human Service workers do their jobs.</span> <span style="font-size: medium;">Thank you.</span></div>
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Heidi Westhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06330380296772961715noreply@blogger.com2Helena, MT, USA46.5883707 -112.0245054000000146.5010797 -112.18586690000001 46.6756617 -111.86314390000001