tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73818118751738525852024-03-05T21:14:38.857-08:00Minnesota MatronMinnesota Matronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16565431067927240183noreply@blogger.comBlogger1062125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7381811875173852585.post-22013407729624136392015-01-01T13:02:00.000-08:002015-01-01T13:02:01.220-08:00It's Time To Retire The Matron<br />
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That's right, friends. Minnesota Matron is tired. Not the actual person herself (well, sometimes) but the blog has run its course. </div>
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But what a run it has been!</div>
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Saturday, September 1, 2007 the Matron began chronicling the antics, pains, pleasures and problems associated with these three. </div>
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Stryker, who was later dubbed He Who Cannot Be Named (HWCBN) was just 11! Here he is a bit earlier than that. The Matron's firstborn was certainly a hot topic on this blog, even if he didn't always endorse that practice. </div>
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He's now a man. In college! Do you remember when she thought he might never get there?!</div>
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Then there was the girl in the middle!</div>
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Stage Mother! Now, SHE'S truly tired. But the theater kid can drive now. Which helps a lot!</div>
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Because there are still auditions, rehearsals, and performances filling up the calendar. Everything this lovely, generous young woman does feels a little like good-bye to her mother. She too is growing on up and out. Happy second half of your junior year of high school, darling! </div>
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In just a tiny squirt of time -- a year and a half - there will be just one child in this house.</div>
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Thank God-Buddha-Oprah-Allah-Universe for the little guy!</div>
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There are some signs of danger, however. He is in middle school! She liked it better when sixth-grade was still elementary.</div>
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Merrick is definitely going to have a "certain way" with the ladies, much like his father. We heard about that man here, too.</div>
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Of course, we can't forget Satan's Familiar or his compatriot Evil Doer.</div>
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So many stories! So much light and life in this house, says the Matron.</div>
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She has made many, many friends through this blog -- Green Girl, Blog This Mom, Suburban Correspondent, Suburban Mom. Mrs. G. Turns out that these women have actual normal names. And are now just a few of the <b>many real friends</b> the Matron met through blogging. </div>
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<br />Thank you, Internet and Facebook! Thank you amazing women!</div>
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If you're a blog friend and/or reader who wants to stay in touch, the Matron frolics frequently on Facebook -- she's flexes that creative muscle there from time to time as well. Mary Petrie. St. Paul. It's not tricky to find her (and who is kidding who about any privacy whatsoever at all).</div>
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Funny. It does feel a bit like that at the moment. It's been magic, yes, and now it is ending. Thank you, too, for buying, supporting and cheering on this book! Oh -- and there's that <a href="http://marypetrie.com/">website</a>, should you want to reach her that way. </div>
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The Matron remains very much up in the thick of all those stories and lives she shared here. That run? Still going strong. She hopes yours is, too, faithful reader.</div>
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Here's to your creative spirits! Thank you for sustaining hers these wonderful, seven + years. Now, onto 2015 and the various beauty and friendship we will all find there.</div>
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Minnesota Matronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16565431067927240183noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7381811875173852585.post-24249746952093070232014-12-05T06:36:00.001-08:002014-12-05T06:36:57.102-08:00Claiming These Men As Her Own
Tuesday, the Matron heard the news today that yet again a white police officer who killed an unarmed black man was not indicted, this time in New York. This is news some people take note of a LOT. IF you are a black person in America, someone is after your men. Targeting, arresting, beating, and imprisoning black men (women too, but the Matron is thinking men at the moment) is something that white folk -- maybe especially here in the Midwest -- don't really have to think about. Sorta not right smack in front of us. Her, anyway.
Then yours truly thought about what she’s taught her children -- that whoever they love, she will love. The Matron has taught her children to love freely and huge, to love without hesitation or boundaries or rules. Their love might be same-sex, black, white, rich, poor, transgender, brown, asian . . . whatever. Today, hearing the news (once again) about injustice against a black man -- crimes -- she drove past a young black boy, bundled up against the cold and trudging his way home and realized that if her children have truly incorporated that message of love, then this black boy might someday be her grandson. If her children have the whole wide world of humanity from which to choose a life partner, their children might not be necessarily white. Because she is thinking men at the moment, black men in particular, she looked at that little boy beating it home after the school bus and thought: my baby. Grandson. From this day forward, that is how the Matron will see all black men, too. Those little boys grow up and then those men might be mine and she would HAVE to see the injustice, would forever know when her own blood spilled. Why wait? She will claim them as her own, now.Minnesota Matronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16565431067927240183noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7381811875173852585.post-49788952714155674662014-11-24T06:59:00.000-08:002014-11-24T06:59:44.395-08:00Book Give Away!
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<a href="http://www.goodreads.com" target="_new">Goodreads</a> Book Giveaway
</h2>
<div style="float: left;">
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22624026"><img alt="At the End of Magic by Mary Petrie" src="https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1404484116l/22624026.jpg" title="At the End of Magic by Mary Petrie" width="100" /></a>
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<h3 style="margin: 0; padding: 0; font-size: 16px; line-height: 20px; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal;">
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22624026">At the End of Magic</a>
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by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8430716.Mary_Petrie" style="text-decoration: none;">Mary Petrie</a>
</h4>
<div class="giveaway_details">
<p>
Giveaway ends December 20, 2014.
</p>
<p>
See the <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/116240" style="text-decoration: none;">giveaway details</a>
at Goodreads.
</p>
</div>
</div>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/enter_choose_address/116240" class="goodreadsGiveawayWidgetEnterLink">Enter to win</a>
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Lovely bloggy friends -- please spread the word to your friends and readers on Goodreads! Promotion R Us, says the Matron (however puny those efforts may be).Minnesota Matronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16565431067927240183noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7381811875173852585.post-47007741048674909832014-11-21T07:09:00.001-08:002014-11-21T07:09:24.695-08:00More! Says The Matron<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">The Matron was the beneficiary of a small but beautiful blessing when she stumbled across this review on Goodreads yesterday! </span><br />
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<span style="color: #4c1130;">"I went into the book with few expectations, and emerged with the feeling that whatever else Mary writes, I'll read it. It took a couple of chapters for me to fall in love, but I did without a doubt. My pace picked up, my sleep was forfeited, and I raced to the finish. The magic was beautifully woven in, and Delphi's attitude towards it absolutely believable. Holly's character is beautifully drawn, and Leilani's delightfully complex. Loved it."</span></div>
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Everyone likes a good review, but the Matron felt <b><i>undue </i></b>pleasure over this one. Joy! Goosebumps! Incredulation! She let these sensations simmer a bit and then examined them. </div>
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<span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">It turns that she does not quite believe she is the real deal after all. </span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">You know the imposter issue, where you sorta feel like you're faking it?<br /><br />The Matron felt that way (at first) about being a mother. That sense of pretending or being half-hearted mama persisted until her third child was born. Indeed, that is part of the reason the Matron felt the need to have one more child-- to prove (to herself and everyone else) that she was doing the deed, really rocking this mama thing. Look at me! I have three! </span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Somehow, a boat load of children finally made her a mother. </span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">The fact that she required external validation was not lost on the Matron. The fact that she laboriously orchestrated (really? a pregnancy?) said external validation was also duly noted. She is still attending to that product, too. He is 11. </span></div>
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So yesterday's glowing review -- by a complete stranger, nonetheless -- was that outsider, looking in, to say: "yes indeed. The real deal."</div>
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And this real deal writer also feels the sweet satisfaction of someone enjoying her work! How lovely to think of these characters she created, keeping a reader up at night. </div>
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Way to go, Leilani!</div>
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Way to go, Matron! Well done, if she does say so herself this time. </div>
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But of course . . . wouldn't one more book tighten the whole thing up? Just like Merrick did for the mama problem?</div>
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So the psyche spins . . . </div>
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Minnesota Matronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16565431067927240183noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7381811875173852585.post-48935974163833737892014-11-16T20:26:00.000-08:002014-11-16T20:26:08.751-08:00Yes. Writing about Weather Again<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
Dear God-Buddha-Oprah-Allah-Universe,</div>
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The Matron thinks there has been a misunderstanding. You know, this January weather before Thanksgiving? Ice-packed roads, single-digit temperatures, biting wind, feet of blowing snow. Ring a celestial bell? It occurs to me that You - in all Your wisdom, of course, but being also VERY busy running the world -- may have mistaken the Matron for a trooper. And thus sent January in November? </div>
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God-Buddha-Oprah-Allah-Universe: it is official. The Matron is not a trooper. She is not rising to the challeng<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">e of ice and chill. She is not gamely moving forward.She is not embracing winter's edge, with my wool cap pulled tight and attitude, chipper. Nope. The Matron would be the woman wrapped in numerous layers of clothing with a space heater by her side, shaking her fist at the sky (not at You, of course. The sky) and saying: "Too soon! Too soon!"</span></div>
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Well!</div>
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<span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">She hopes this clears up any misunderstanding and sheds light on her actual position here in the world -- not a trooper. Cold. A wee bit bitter, actually.</span></div>
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Thank You for rectifying this situation. She looks foward to the thrill of throwing open the shades tomorrow morning and seeing November's 40 degree return.</div>
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Minnesota Matronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16565431067927240183noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7381811875173852585.post-19155768108960193402014-11-10T19:47:00.002-08:002014-11-10T19:48:17.967-08:00Say It Ain't Snow, So (Much Too)<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
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<span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">When will the Matron ever learn?</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Because Panic and Crisis prevail every first snow. It is all: "where are my boots! I need better gloves! Don't you remember that my coat ripped to shreds last year?! I want a BLUE hat not a red one! These boots aren't *right* on me!"</span></div>
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Dear children: no piece of clothing or footware designed to save you from arctic death is *right.* Everything about a boatload of snow way before Thanksgiving is entirely *wrong.* Merrick, your mother is sorry that she forgot that<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"> you wore your coat -- literally -- to shreds last year. Of course you did. She will get you a new one. Tonight, it would appear. </span></div>
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Then there are the texts from the teenager taking the city bus "STILL not here!" and Merrick's return from his bus stop: "I forgot to put shoes in my backpack!" So off she goes, driving Merrick back to the bus while praying that Scarlett's actually comes so that yours turly doesn't have to also drive downtown during their winter rush hour dramas. </div>
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Thank Buddha-Oprah-Allah-Universe-God. The bus came.</div>
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Space heaters are now spread throughout the Matron's four story, 2800 square foot, 100 year old house with over 50 windows. Described thus so you understannd when she says "I work from home" this is code for: " I am wearing wool socks, slippers, jeans, tank top, long-sleeved t-shirt, sweater, sweatshirt and sometimes hat in a wind-blown structure that eats our theoretical retirement savings as monthly heating bill."</div>
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If you discover the Matron's head in theoven, it's not because she went all Sylvia Plath. Swear. Just cooking up creative heat here in St. Paul while she waits for the next emergency snow-related text to arrive -- or even better, May</div>
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Minnesota Matronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16565431067927240183noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7381811875173852585.post-60970094192406896502014-11-02T17:54:00.001-08:002014-11-02T17:54:06.172-08:00That Magic Touch<br />
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<span style="line-height: 1.38;">The Matron's youngest - sliding along through the middle of 11 -- recently learned to wink. He's been practicing. And folks? He and that wink are </span><i style="line-height: 1.38;"><b>irresistable</b></i><span style="line-height: 1.38;">.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 1.38;">Last Monday morning . . . . .</span></div>
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Matron: "Merrrick are you ready for the big book presentation in English today?"</div>
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Merrick: "What book?"</div>
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Friends, this is where the Matron sits down on the floor and rocks herself a little, like someone institutionalized or soon to be. The Matron has devoted herself to that presentation, that book, Merrick's homework. He is so unorganized that he sometimes thinks he attends an entirely different school!!</div>
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Matron: "The book you've been reading for a month - <i>Granny </i>-- the one you wrote all those notecards for and are preparing the presentation on."</div>
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Merrick: "I have no idea what that's all about."</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin: 6px 0px;">
Matron: "So you have these 10 note cards outlining the main points of the book. You've read the book. There's the worksheet on 'how to do a presentation.' Does any of this ring a bell?"</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin: 6px 0px;">
Merrick: "WELL. Just because I have all that STUFF done doesn't mean I know what I'm supposed to say during the presentation. Does it?"</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin: 6px 0px;">
No, apparantly, it does not.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin: 6px 0px;">
Merrick: "Don't worry, Mom. I have it under control."</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin: 6px 0px;">
Matron: "And?"</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin: 6px 0px;">
Merrick (BIG WINK): "I got this one. Check out this face. Is it working on you?"</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Minnesota Matronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16565431067927240183noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7381811875173852585.post-62857495637616628852014-10-28T07:05:00.001-07:002014-10-28T07:05:48.658-07:00Wherein the Matron Gets Her Seinfeld On . . . <div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">You were warned. If you pettiness gives you cause to recoil, do so now or walk away.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><br /></span></div>
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For the Matron is whining about <span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">last week's <strike>wrestling match </strike>yoga class with Mr. Heave, Grunt, Rattle, & Roll. She can take the grunts. The groans. The heaving with whistle and chur, and this in a space where there's supposed to be silence. Look! Here is the Matron, all stoic, when Mr. Heave, Grunt, Rattle & Roll falls out of a posture and tumbles his 6 foot self onto her mat, nearly knocking her MUCH tinier self righ</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">t over. Here is the Matron, all saint-like, when Mr. HGRR -- who if you haven't yet noticed is COMPLETELY unaware of his surroundings and anything remotely akin to personal space --- shakes his jowels like a dog so that his spit and sweat can spatter the delicate skin of yours truly.</span></div>
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<div class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; display: inline;">
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Ugh!</div>
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<br /></div>
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But then . . . in the most shocking and unacceptable turn of events . . . Mr. HGRR sops up his sweat with a steaming, soaking towel which he promptly tosses onto The MATRON'S MAT!</div>
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<br /></div>
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For folks who've never been to a yoga class -- that mat is sacred space. Your space. The universe. Nobody in the Matron's 20 years (that's right!) of committed yoga practice has used her mat as a laundry baset, let alone put a toe on it. Until last week.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Of course, yours truly pointedly picked up said disgusting item --- with her FOOT (because she was laying down) and HURLED it sideways. Which turned out to be highly conveniently for HGRR because now the towel was resituated right next to him, making it just that easy to swipe more sweat and, yes, send it right back -- splat-- to the middle of the Matron's mat again.</div>
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Here's where the situation took a turn for the juvenile, wherein she HURLS the towel back -- with any body part other than a hand --and tosses the death glare, but of course: Mr. HGRR doesn't notice. He's just all like - "oh, reach down and there's that towel again" -- as if it's perfectly natural. Just. The scheme of things.</div>
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. .<br />At one point, Matronly rage simmers into marvel. Wow. How is it possible to be so <i>absolutely clueless </i>to anyone or anything around you?</div>
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<br /></div>
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Next week, she's bringing a whistle.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, lucida grande, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><a class="embedly-card" href="http://mentakingup2muchspaceonthetrain.tumblr.com/">Men Taking Up Too Much Space on the Train</a></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, lucida grande, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><script async="" charset="UTF-8" src="//cdn.embedly.com/widgets/platform.js"></script></span></span></div>
</div>
Minnesota Matronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16565431067927240183noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7381811875173852585.post-21361352045098830642014-10-17T08:05:00.000-07:002014-10-17T08:05:18.398-07:00That Other Child Speaks French, Too<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEIb9Vh7aAxsnTgOrlHJXyS6MhespIQfNP2Qf-RZaJNY04Fj2yKyy7OacPHtzVswoxDEyiRS32izvlyCiOz_e9pWYsRGdGQ4hOO_LjA-Qa4N773A7oTepnaj_fq383stbO-NPourGnpT0/s1600/Switched+at+Birth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEIb9Vh7aAxsnTgOrlHJXyS6MhespIQfNP2Qf-RZaJNY04Fj2yKyy7OacPHtzVswoxDEyiRS32izvlyCiOz_e9pWYsRGdGQ4hOO_LjA-Qa4N773A7oTepnaj_fq383stbO-NPourGnpT0/s1600/Switched+at+Birth.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Last night the Matron and her husband had good friends over for dinner. Despite the fact that their child and hers have nothing in common except age (11), she is pretty sure that the two were switched at birth.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"> Guess which child is reading which book?</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"> Guess which child was FORCED by a school assignment to read said book and which is on a Cather kick -- at age 11.</span></div>
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Matron: "Merrick, would you like to go to the library today?"</div>
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Merrick: "Are you forcing me?"</div>
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Matron: "Of course not! I just thought maybe you wanted to just check out some books."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
Merrick: "Do you know me at all?"</div>
</div>
Minnesota Matronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16565431067927240183noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7381811875173852585.post-73167049277020322912014-10-14T19:38:00.000-07:002014-10-14T19:38:13.457-07:00The Matron Plans Panic<br />
The Matron follows news of Ebola with <strike>growing panic </strike>interest. Germany, Spain, United States. West Africa. That death rate? Tip-toeing toward 70%.<br />
<br />The Matron <i>appreciates </i>how the discourse and language have changed. Initially, that death rate was 50%. Now it's a BIT bigger. <br />
<br />
The Director of the CDC initially said: Ebola will never come to the U.S.<br />
<br />
Now?<br />
<br />
<a href="http://washington.cbslocal.com/2014/10/09/cdc-director-we-have-to-work-now-so-ebola-is-not-the-worlds-next-aids/">"We have to work now so that it is not the world's next new AIDS." </a><br />
<br />
Let us pause here and consider the Matron's response to Public Health Concern or Threat, generally. Important psychological background information ahead:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRsLy9uCm56zX6poVrTTCGpiAS47Jsoj0k_dQ9ewHHq4jJ5wKoIHo9gAmWi4Iz8mkjGh3xPQV6q4Acsj3R4V0C-NO8rTjkJ_ucqLzdyD1dltdSWWNpWc38pzahdSPCFmBwOLKsE1lWEk8/s1600-h/fallout.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRsLy9uCm56zX6poVrTTCGpiAS47Jsoj0k_dQ9ewHHq4jJ5wKoIHo9gAmWi4Iz8mkjGh3xPQV6q4Acsj3R4V0C-NO8rTjkJ_ucqLzdyD1dltdSWWNpWc38pzahdSPCFmBwOLKsE1lWEk8/s320/fallout.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267057864224238930" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 120px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 88px;" /></a><br />
<br />
About a month ago, the Matron found a bat sleeping on the basement stairs. After a few shrieks and faints, she managed to haul her husband down there to remove said villain. Leather gloves were used and cardboard, not human flesh, made contact with the vermin.<br />
<br />
But, UGH! My, what teeth you have, Dracula! This is SO a picture from google!<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi7LQ69ZzMY4SqYe6ZMeOQsWK03_CPIVVwBXBpV0Elf9Y19HYTwTXbuLJidnGUIlGan3GphIv9_v9KZPpt5zOveLRdp7cyb8kpGA3vZPpkpEjUx3qj8Vtkynnah994hDDpQag0U1AC6ng/s1600-h/bat.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi7LQ69ZzMY4SqYe6ZMeOQsWK03_CPIVVwBXBpV0Elf9Y19HYTwTXbuLJidnGUIlGan3GphIv9_v9KZPpt5zOveLRdp7cyb8kpGA3vZPpkpEjUx3qj8Vtkynnah994hDDpQag0U1AC6ng/s320/bat.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267057858147196674" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 120px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 140px;" /></a><br />
<br />
Alas, that bat was to be the Matron's psychological undoing. She remembered the northern Minnesota man who died of rabies this summer: he didn't even know he had been bitten. Still, reason prevailed until she listened to <a href="http://www.thisamericanlife.org/Radio_Episode.aspx?episode=319">This American Life's Halloween Real Life Horror </a>stories on RABIES. Specifically, about a woman who couldn't rip the rabid raccoon off of her.<br />
<br />
Oh My God. While listening, the Matron peeked outside by the garbage can, checking for raccoons. Or skunks. Wildlife, in general.<br />
<br />
Then, the radio narrator issued this warning: <span style="color: #000099; font-size: 21px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">if you ever find a sleeping bat in a child's bedroom, that child must be vaccinated against rabies! Children or the infirm can be bitten without knowing, while they sleep. </span></span>Now, being the infirm herself, Matron did what any rational, phobia and panic-oriented person might do at that moment.<br />
<br />
She got online and starting researching bats and rabies. Yup. Dropped everything in the middle of a busy day and got going on THAT special project.<br />
<br />
The upshot of this endeavor was that the Matron became inclined to - and did! -- type her very own little email message to the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta, querying those good folk about the sleeping bat in her basement and the possibility that her entire family was already doomed but didn't know it. Now, do you know anyone else who sends email messages to the CDC?<br />
<br />
The <a href="http://www.cdc.gov/rabies/bats.html">CDC is THE hot spot f</a>or fueling the Matronly fears.<br />
<br />
They actually answered! Suggestions for psychiatric care aside, there were reassurances that Official Government Word is on a sleeping bat, far far away from humanity in the household, poses no vaccine-warranting danger.<br />
<br />
But there's still that issue of <span style="font-style: italic;">future </span>bats, sleeping in bedrooms. This is a pesky problem because there's that whole issue of <span style="font-style: italic;">finding </span>the sleeping bat in the first place. It occurred to the Matron -- as she rationally thought the entire logistical endeavor through--that one would have to <span style="font-style: italic;">actively seek </span>sleeping bats, keep an eye out. Unless that bat was going to lounge like Satan's Familiar, cozy on the bed or conveniently located on a bookshelf or floor <span style="color: #990000;"><span style="font-size: 21px;">(like, look, over here! here I am, rabid bat!)</span> ,</span> the Matron would need to deploy some kind of tactical search and retreive team throughout her children's bedrooms -- <span style="font-style: italic;">every day.</span><br />
<br />
Days like today, when she's on campus, communication with the spouse goes something like this:<br />
<br />
"John, I didn't get a chance to search the children's bedrooms, but would you please check for sleeping bats? Oh, and pick up the prescription at the drugstore."<br />
<br />
Email message, sent from school: "<span style="font-family: arial;">John, how's the sleeping bat search going? Did I mention that you should look in closets and under doors?"</span><br />
<br />
Phone: "You know, sweetie, the CDC website says to patch holes to prevent bats from entering. There's that huge hole in our smaller closet that needs attention. In the meantime, can you duct tape the bottom of the door shut? We don't need to go in there."<br />
<br />
The Matronly state of panicked affairs is reminiscent of Y2K, when a very strange thing happened to her.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfdDmu8r5RIvlTqrJ03iu8nRFGbND8uaNkQPmkRs0MULzVkCGqfziU9DwIHmQBByl2KalXtHNA_8-VggN3-2QjcEO_lD0U6Hb8v2WHSpOH7b4t5noUrFwatipApbKrXww4gDhIsVzUETg/s1600-h/survivalist.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfdDmu8r5RIvlTqrJ03iu8nRFGbND8uaNkQPmkRs0MULzVkCGqfziU9DwIHmQBByl2KalXtHNA_8-VggN3-2QjcEO_lD0U6Hb8v2WHSpOH7b4t5noUrFwatipApbKrXww4gDhIsVzUETg/s320/survivalist.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267057861754096338" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 134px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 101px;" /></a><br />
She was <span style="font-style: italic;">convinced </span>that there was at least <span style="font-style: italic;">potential </span>for complete global collapse. Anarchy. Food shortages, gas crises, riot in the street. The internet can be a dangerous thing in unstable hands, and the Matron's? Her hands were shaking (literally -- and that's a clue)!<br />
<br />
In the six months leading up to January 1 2000, the Matron was a shaking, quaking, weight-losing mess. She spent as much time as possible online, hanging out on survivalist web sites and reading all about the mayhem promised ahead.<br />
<br />
Her neighbors did not help. There was much discussion of 'living off the grid.' How to make your own heat, fuel and electricity. Now, the Matron very much liked 'the grid' and had no intention of living off it it: she just didn't want that municipal network of heat and electricity to go away or be threatened!<br />
<br />
How about that family slaughtering rabbits for food? Right down the block. All those adorable bunnies' heads hacked off and the rest popped in the freezer. That family butchered and froze bunnies for the entire year of 1999. The backyard was a row after row of cages.<br />
<br />
The Matron would stand on street corners with these people, plotting.<br />
<br />
The entire situation peaked one fall night when the Matron came downstairs and laid out their survival plan to her husband. They would pack the dogs, children and vital ingredients and flee to Leech Lake Indian Reservation where their dearest friends lived.<br />
<br />
Indians know how to live off the grid, she reasoned. We can stay with them. We might not <span style="font-style: italic;">need </span>to, but there's Plan B. Go Native.<br />
<br />
Now, the Matron doesn't know how John knew to do this, but he did. He held her hands and said this: "Let me take care of the survival plan. Stop the research. Don't think about it. I'll do everything - - assess the risk, make the plan, stockpile food and water. Please just hand this problem over to me. Trust me to take care of you."<br />
<br />
And she did! Literally, just like that. She turned it over, relieved.<br />
<br />
Occasionally, she'd check in: "Are we storing fuel in the garage? Do you think canned food would be a good idea?"<br />
<br />
John: "I'm all over it! No worries!"<br />
<br />
Still, one day, the Matron took her quaking shaking weight-losing, hair-falling out self to the doctor because she just didn't <span style="font-style: italic;">feel quite </span>right, impending apocalypse aside --hadn't, ever since Scarlett was about six months old. Turns out?<br />
<br />
The Matron had Graves Disease. Hyperthyroidism. Which can result in? Weight loss. Hair loss. Anxiety. Outright paranoia. FEAR.<br />
<br />
Which helped explain her penchant for survivalist web sites. Still, post-diagnosis (and the drama of getting that thyroid in line will be another story), the Matron found herself standing in front of 200 count packs of Q-Tips, dirt cheap on sale.<br />
<br />
Naturally, she put <span style="color: #cc0000;">20 packages </span>in her cart. She just <span style="font-style: italic;">had to </span>stock up on <span style="font-style: italic;">something</span>!<br />
<br />
On December 31st, 1999, John remembered to fill up the car with gas. He bought nary a bottle of water nor can of corn. And the Matron hasn't purchased a Q-Tip in approximately 8 years.<br />
<br />
Maybe she'll check her thyroid levels in between forages for rabid bats.<br />
<br />
<br />
~*~**~*~*~**~<br />
<br />
Now?<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">1995 -- Big movie! Outbreak.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">2011 - Big movie! Contagion.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">2015 -- Your iPhone! Ebola.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Let the new Age of Anxiety Begin.</span><br />
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<br />Minnesota Matronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16565431067927240183noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7381811875173852585.post-54771867107214504392014-10-10T12:21:00.001-07:002014-10-10T12:21:25.005-07:00Ear Wax or Bigger Problems? So Wondereth the Matron.Merrick: "Can we buy some Create Juice?"<br /><br />Matron: "Create Juice? What do you mean? There is no such thing."<br />
<br />
Merrick: "Yes there is and my Math teacher said she's out of it. Hers ran out. She seemed super crabby about that so I thought it would cheer her up if I brought some on Monday."<br />
<br />
Here is where the Matron must sit down and put her head on the table and bang it ever so slightly, just a few times.<br />
<br />
Bang. Bang. Bang.<br />
<br />
At least he's helpful. The rest demands emergency attention. Minnesota Matronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16565431067927240183noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7381811875173852585.post-17316333634141570702014-10-07T19:26:00.000-07:002014-10-07T19:26:31.928-07:00How Global Pandemic Plays Out In Her House<div class="_5pbx userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.38; overflow: hidden;">
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Merrick: "If Ebola comes to St. Paul, would I stay home from school?"</div>
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Matron: "Absolutely -- but why do you ask?" And in that "absolutely" please read her total and complete, forever irrational panic. This is a woman who bought 5000 Q-Tips before Y2K.</div>
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<span style="line-height: 1.38;">Merrick: "No school and stuff. We could be on TV. I'm thinking maybe Ebola isn't all that bad."</span></div>
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Her scholar and reality tv star, scheming. Forget global demise and despair. No school and cameras.</div>
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Minnesota Matronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16565431067927240183noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7381811875173852585.post-4512179950679078182014-09-28T19:56:00.001-07:002014-09-28T19:56:26.815-07:00Cutting Him Loose<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
Here is the Matron's life, a Friday morning before school. Over oatmeal (Matron) and Cocoa Krispies (Merrick).</div>
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Merrick: "Did you and Dad sign a prenup?"</div>
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Matron: "What!? Why in the world are you asking?"</div>
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Merrick: "Because if something goes wrong with that colon-thing today, who gets me and Scarlett?"</div>
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Matron: "I think you're talking about a will -- and I'm not going to die during a colonoscopy. And Dad's not dying today, either. A prenuptial agreement is when you agree who gets what in a divorce, before you even get married. "</div>
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Merrick: "Okay then. How about the prenup thing? How did you split up kids?"</div>
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Matron: "We don't have one We didn't split up children."</div>
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Merrick: "Then who goes where when you get divorced?"</div>
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Matron: "We're not getting divorced."</div>
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Merrick: "What about if you both die?"</div>
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Matron: "Honey, why these questions today?"</div>
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Merrick: "I was thinking there are LOTS of ways I could be cut loose here and I want to know my options."</div>
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Day in the life.</div>
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Minnesota Matronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16565431067927240183noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7381811875173852585.post-84431736657743547162014-09-21T19:17:00.001-07:002014-09-21T19:17:29.465-07:00Nothing Says "Hey I'm 50" Like . . . <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF9ejtCqzdw4_Xl7aW43UTxch8V_7tb3c73ceqLv7Ir1_gLoG5bseq1MSGS_GOsg6TIaHFIRvIHIoaJ7evl7HNlvikKTuIdR0O33gFXAGMSH8XzUWKShiFDW5yeWkNAb8z-RvX2GTjT7M/s1600/Colon.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF9ejtCqzdw4_Xl7aW43UTxch8V_7tb3c73ceqLv7Ir1_gLoG5bseq1MSGS_GOsg6TIaHFIRvIHIoaJ7evl7HNlvikKTuIdR0O33gFXAGMSH8XzUWKShiFDW5yeWkNAb8z-RvX2GTjT7M/s1600/Colon.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
A certain medical procedure, which the Matron will undergo tomorrow at 10:00 am. Please let her never see another cup of clear broth or green JELL-O again. But when she sees her husband, post-procedure, he better be bearing a big cup of coffee and fully loaded bagel.<br />
<br />
Other indicators of a certain age?<br />
<br />
Every night the Matron consumes the following elixer: magnesium, tart cherry, melatonin (timed release). Because she is no longer capable of sleep without assistance and that <strike>3/4 </strike>half a bottle of wine every night just wasn't working out that well for her.<br />
<br />
Today's <i>New York Times Magazine</i> features Gary Hart's tryst with Donna Rice and all that fell out afterward and it seems like just yesterday when that all happened. Plus she even knew who Gary Hart was.<br />
<br />
Although the Matron has required eye correction since she was a very Wee Miss, she is now swapping out her contacts for glasses at night. Because her eyes are just, well, tired, by about 6 pm. Which is when 'night' begins for her now.<br />
<br />
This summer, she attended weddings of two young women she'd known since they were Wee Misses themselves. She has friends who are (gasp) grandmothers). More than one friend and the grandchildren aren't necessarily tiny, either.<br />
<br />
"Glory be" and "Heavens to mercy" are phrases that she actually uses -- with passion and commitment.<br />
<br />
Please pour her another stiff cup of tea while she unlaces the orthopedic shoes. . . .<br />
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<br />Minnesota Matronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16565431067927240183noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7381811875173852585.post-88074260204738285222014-09-18T18:39:00.004-07:002014-09-18T18:40:09.419-07:00The Matron: Zen Master?Many years ago when the Matron was a youngish Miss with two small children, her beloved trunlded her off to <a href="http://www.kripalu.org/">Kripalu </a> for some yoga R & R. It was a lovely respite for Beleagured Mother. She participated in downward dog, saluted the sou, bent like a cobra. She attended various lectures on topics like "Loving Kindness To Anger Release" and "Do No Harm" and "Mindfulness Means Peace."
Immediately following a particularly poignant "Do No Harm" presentation, yours truly returned to her room only to be bothered by a fly. No - -not the plague, hiccups, or other torture. Yours truly was subject to the buzzing mayhem of a simple house fly. Which meant she was soon screaming about her tiny yogic bedroom, batting newspapers and throwing books at the buzzing menace: "DIE MOTHERF#(%%@%!!!"<br />
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Thus, her true nature was revealed.<br />
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Scroll forward many years and that true nature. Mice.<br />
<br />
Every mouse in St. Paul has decided that the Matron's house will be Winter Resort or Rodent Party. They have descended and they poop. Everywhere. If the fly was a newspaper and book? Here is the Matron's true nature, her mouse demeanor.<br />
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<a class="embedly-card" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QJVsS-vIDdc">The Battle of Stirling - Braveheart (5/9) Movie CLIP (1995) HD</a>
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Minnesota Matronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16565431067927240183noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7381811875173852585.post-24461321223296866922014-09-10T09:34:00.002-07:002014-09-10T09:34:43.711-07:00The Matron's Fifteen Minutes Yes indeed --yours truly is hoisting her hose and making the most out of her 15 minutes of semi-fame. The Today Show website! The Matron is asking you to "like," comment, or share the Today Story -- and make sure that everyone who loves his or her mother buys the darn book!
<a class="embedly-card" href="http://www.today.com/parents/book-mom-get-amazing-surprise-her-teenage-son-1D80137607">Find out how this amazing teen made his mom's dream come true</a>
<script>!function(a){var b="embedly-platform",c="script";if(!a.getElementById(b)){var d=a.createElement(c);d.id=b,d.src=("https:"===document.location.protocol?"https":"http")+"://cdn.embedly.com/widgets/platform.js";var e=document.getElementsByTagName(c)[0];e.parentNode.insertBefore(d,e)}}(document);</script>Minnesota Matronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16565431067927240183noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7381811875173852585.post-2525948692663495962014-09-07T11:51:00.000-07:002014-09-07T11:51:13.831-07:00This One Speaks for Itself
But first, hand her a tissue.
<a class="embedly-card" href="http://www.startribune.com/lifestyle/blogs/274023831.html?page=1&c=y">Rosenblum: Son's gift to writer mom is one for the books</a>
<script>!function(a){var b="embedly-platform",c="script";if(!a.getElementById(b)){var d=a.createElement(c);d.id=b,d.src=("https:"===document.location.protocol?"https":"http")+"://cdn.embedly.com/widgets/platform.js";var e=document.getElementsByTagName(c)[0];e.parentNode.insertBefore(d,e)}}(document);</script>Minnesota Matronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16565431067927240183noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7381811875173852585.post-371515037360946992014-09-03T21:16:00.002-07:002014-09-03T21:16:34.729-07:00Magic: Just Starting!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2FodXv3QWy-lUQk8X7MHmbuKnlr7i-zqr6wsavjic4EFgmqUS0Rv302LFMTUgMzuk8WtIl_Ly7jXcPxJu8Lt4jD5DKzXKSiJtZvRRa_H1vMiorRRoxPgXfeYQGWYoouRe8oUdv_GmjnI/s1600/Reading+One.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2FodXv3QWy-lUQk8X7MHmbuKnlr7i-zqr6wsavjic4EFgmqUS0Rv302LFMTUgMzuk8WtIl_Ly7jXcPxJu8Lt4jD5DKzXKSiJtZvRRa_H1vMiorRRoxPgXfeYQGWYoouRe8oUdv_GmjnI/s1600/Reading+One.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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Last week, the Matron read from her novel,<i> At the End of Magic</i>. She picked up her son from COLLEGE (where he now lives) and the two arrived, early. The store was alarmingly empty. <br />
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Bookstore worker: "You're competing with the state fair and the start of school. Nobody showed up for last night's event."<br />
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Wherein He Who Cannot Be Named (HWCBN) but whom everyone knows, looked mildly alarmed. His mother said 'not to worry' but she did. She took her worried self to the Ladies Room, that time-tested respite from whatever else is happening outside of its doors. <br />
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A few minutes later? <br /><br />People were walking in. . . and in . . . and in . . and more people started coming. The bookstore workers had to get extra chairs.<br />
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Bookstore Worker: "Folks, we can put a few people over here."<br />
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HWCBN was no longer alarmed but a wee bit proud of the room his mother packed. Then that mother got to stand up in front of the crowd and talk about her work. She read from the book. She answered questions.<br />
<br />Really, truly great questions -- from people who actually read the damn book and were genuinely curious. The Matron was happy -- so happy!-- to thoughtfully answer back, each question bringing her to some new self awareness or artistic realization.<br />
<br />Synergy ensued. Goodwill and lively conversation.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW5KK7vGP5BfoNFgMPZb8YNK4ylLAeqomSapuNuoY1dXOu5PyGTnbr_kp2H2aP9vcTQw8RN3eD77Lg_ldg0C1Lfr9stO1OpGLoZTRdFsHTqH0XfIDI49ygM35oa6mMIWcHWiYU4IRoyUc/s1600/Reading+Subtext.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW5KK7vGP5BfoNFgMPZb8YNK4ylLAeqomSapuNuoY1dXOu5PyGTnbr_kp2H2aP9vcTQw8RN3eD77Lg_ldg0C1Lfr9stO1OpGLoZTRdFsHTqH0XfIDI49ygM35oa6mMIWcHWiYU4IRoyUc/s1600/Reading+Subtext.jpg" height="181" width="320" /></a></div>
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The book store worker kept frantically signaling "time" on his pretend watch until the Matron snapped shut her book and promised to sign some of theirs.<br />
<br />Fifteen minutes later, as she was chatting and signing, she happened to look up and behind her. There was a LINE.<br />
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Bookstore Worker: "You're competing with the state fair and start of school, Mary -- and we ran out of chairs and books. Impressive. Good show, too."<br /><br />And the son who made it all happen jhad shifted right to flat-out, happy, pride in his mama's show: "Mom! I didn't know you had that in you!" <br />
<br />"That" being genuine delight in discourse. She is light on her conversational feet and enjoys every minute of it. Not a big surprise to the blogging world, where the Matron gets to strut her stuff routinely--and watch others strut theirs too.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlqG9todGli8SPb9rzU-4yBAmA0VSuH9rgimifIo2dKoQZOjnPzlKp-kOplglcpybr-7P11JggVKv5hSNxEIplqlAZvCTL2YUdrUYILWzCbJ69CuYGS0gR0c8Hp0ALPbtUT25ATXn9kxU/s1600/Mary+and+Stryker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlqG9todGli8SPb9rzU-4yBAmA0VSuH9rgimifIo2dKoQZOjnPzlKp-kOplglcpybr-7P11JggVKv5hSNxEIplqlAZvCTL2YUdrUYILWzCbJ69CuYGS0gR0c8Hp0ALPbtUT25ATXn9kxU/s1600/Mary+and+Stryker.jpg" height="211" width="320" /></a></div>
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Thank you, Stryker. It's going to be a magical ride. Already is.Minnesota Matronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16565431067927240183noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7381811875173852585.post-20790327989115503522014-08-27T21:00:00.004-07:002014-08-27T21:00:38.093-07:00As the World Turns<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm5riQlpQMvRP8-y19c5TuUZbWxfThhTuQlUsnMxeSMIuSMB0iwl7r5skJzXRSLLN9sjBONyno-RyyH1ps7dXgFl0TK_fAG5lCSekWx8DKsYb5wijEbI1crZOLcuA6Ols27qyymIL_UaE/s1600/Dorm+Mary+and+Stryker+Two.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm5riQlpQMvRP8-y19c5TuUZbWxfThhTuQlUsnMxeSMIuSMB0iwl7r5skJzXRSLLN9sjBONyno-RyyH1ps7dXgFl0TK_fAG5lCSekWx8DKsYb5wijEbI1crZOLcuA6Ols27qyymIL_UaE/s1600/Dorm+Mary+and+Stryker+Two.JPG" height="194" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
Yesterday, the Matron moved her eldest into his dorm room. Tears were shed and not just by her. That young man may have experienced a moment of Sniffle himself. <br />
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At the University of Minnesota (ahem, BIG scholarship), he is close to home, but oh-so-far-away. Yesterday was clearly a move out. Away. Into the new chapter. </div>
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And this one, the girl?</div>
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<br />
Is now a young woman. Happy birthday, Scarlett!! The Matron's only daughter turned 16 today! The Matron and her husband are parents of few rules and one of them is: no dating until you're 16. That's right. Not a peck, not a walk in the park, not a boyfriend-girlfriend. Merrick asked Scarlett if she "plans to go crazy." <br /><br />
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But her mother isn't worried about that. This child has been focused, disciplined and determined since birth. She continues to amaze and blaze onstage (The Cherry Orchard, coming up next) but has also shown up as her older brother's intellectual equal. He was fourth in his graduating class. She is rounding that corner at #7. But 16!<br />
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Suddenly, Merrick isn't quite so much the baby anymore. Not after pulling on that uniform and stepping into Middle School this morning. He went in her little guy and emerged a middle-schooler.<br />
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She is certain that he will try to break that 'date at 16 rule.' <br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">The Matron feels like the real matronly deal -- the old lady sitting with her cronies in the church basement, watching the young people sing and dance after the wedding -- full of nostalgia, full of hope for the spectacular future in the youth before her, humbled by her own role in the universe. Her life! Tiny! Huge! Tiny by scale but enormous in terms of heart. The scope of history gives us just a firefly blip in its timeline, but each day shaped by love is as rich and dense as eternity. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">She is grateful for each and every one of those days she's given. </span>Minnesota Matronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16565431067927240183noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7381811875173852585.post-60914035306658294862014-08-23T21:40:00.002-07:002014-08-23T21:40:25.705-07:00Future Chair of the Federal Reserve Bank?<div role="article" style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.359999656677246px;">
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<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">The Matron, awash with maternal anticipation for Middle School, took Merrick to orientation for his academically rigorous new school. Incoming sixth-graders were given a piece of paper with five questions and ushered into the gym, where a teacher explained precisely what they were to do with that piece of paper over the next two hours. Students would be going to small classroom meetings, where they would hear school themes and messages <span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">that should be recorded onto that paper to answer the five questions. This went on, clearly and without deviation, for 15 minutes. Then the group disbanded for said small classroom meetings.<br /><br />Merrick (waving paper): "Mom?!! What do I do with this?"<br /><br />Matron: "We just spent the past half hour talking about this!"<br /><br />Merrick: "We did?"<br /><br />Matron: "You go room to room with your group, and the teachers will give you ideas about how to answer the questions on the paper. Does that make sense?"<br /><br />Merrick: "Is this school now or something before that happens? And what did you say again about that paper?"<br /><br />When she left him with group and home room teacher, all she could do was shove him into the fold, look the teacher square in the eye and say: (with meaiing): "Good luck."</span></span></div>
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Minnesota Matronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16565431067927240183noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7381811875173852585.post-11952167388753817382014-08-20T06:16:00.000-07:002014-08-20T06:16:07.104-07:00A Moment with Merrick<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
There are times when the Matron simply cannot get over the absolute adorability of her youngest son! <br />
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In the kitchen:<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Matron: "What do you want for your snack at camp, Merrick? Carrots, sugar snap peas, apple?"</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Merrick: "Beef jerky."</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Matron: "Don't want something to go with that -- a vegetable, fruit, cracker?"</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Merrick (totally taken aback): "Mom! This is SPORTS camp. I can't bring sugar snap peas to a sports camp. I need meat."</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Matron: "Preferably raw, correct? A big hunk of raw meat?"</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Merrick (joy!): "Do we have some!!?"</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Speaking of adorability, just see that radiate when he was three! That little man could move a Fisher Price. And he did . . . endlessly. </span><br />
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Eight years later . . . and back in that kitchen.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Merrick inquired if child labor laws existed in Minnesota.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Matron: "Well, yes. Why do you ask that?"</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Merrick: "That's private information for me and the police."</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">For the record . . this is not long after he helped his mother set the recycling at the curb.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">So much for the yard work impulse, it would appear. The Matron thinks Mr. Adorability won't need lawn skills or a well-developed palate to succeed in life, particularly with the ladies (or the men, should he swing in that direction). </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">He just needs to bat those eyes.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>Minnesota Matronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16565431067927240183noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7381811875173852585.post-66371555875824479602014-08-14T20:55:00.000-07:002014-08-15T13:33:45.913-07:00Linguistics R UsThe end at the beginning. Ardis? You win the draw! <i>Kicks Like a Girl</i> is heading your way . . send details to mpetrie33 at gmail dot com.<br />
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Otherwise . .. .<br />
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The Matron is about to do a servere disservice to Complex Linguistic Theory. If you have a PhD in English and are reading this, please forgive her. You know who you are.<br />
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In this theory, absence defines what is present. Sounds like super-duper gibberish? Absence defines what's present?<br />
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It goes like this: part of the reason we know that "G" is "G" is because it is <i><b>not </b></i>A, B, C, or D and so on. We understand "apple" as "apple," in part, because it is not this box of letters -- "table" or this box of letters "bed." <br />
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Absence is important because there is no fixed meaning to any box of letters, to any word. For example, if the Matron asks you to picture a "coat" in your mind, what do you see? Give that coat a color, history, texture, length. Picture it.<br />
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This whole blog post depends on the visual. Get that coat in your head!<br />
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You can bet your coat was different than hers. The Matron saw a red suede little number, with heavy stiching and a vintage edge. Knee length. And she owns one. Unless everyone reading this saw the same, it's clear that our understanding of '"coat" varies from person to person. When we see the word "coat," we don't each see red, suede, and adorable. But we can all know that "coat" is <b><i>not </i></b>"porch." So even if we can't immediately <b><i>see </i></b>the same "coat," we know it's not "porch" or anything else, and can get to that general shared framework of "coat."<br />
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This, in short (and to summarize and bastardize LEGIONS of work and theory), this is why absence -- what a word is <i><b>not </b></i>-- is fundamental to what the word means.<br />
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Being the literary sort, the Matron has returned to Complex Literary Theory in the course of her everyday life. The past few days have been spent entirely in service of --or defined by -- what is not. What is absent. The list?<br />
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<ul>
<li>He Who Cannot Be Named (HWCBN)'s wisdom teeth</li>
<li>John</li>
<li>Scarlett</li>
<li>Merrick</li>
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HWCBN had his wisdom teeth removed on Monday and, boy oh boy! The Matron cannot remember a time when something that didn't exist caused her so much maternal headache and toil: ice packs, pain medication, soft food, warm salt water, medicated rinse, etc. This, folks, has not been a pain-free process. The extraction went well but the young man in question? Suffering. But the Matron is running about, utterly defined by the absence of those damn teeth.<br />
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Complicating this is the fact that the rest of the household has departed -- absent, gone, poof! Scarlett is doing a week-long theater residency in northern Minnesota; John and Merrick are camping. Although the lack of people --and subsequent domestic mayhem -- has been conducive to HWCBN's recovery, it has also meant that there is nobody else here for HWCBN to talk to. . . . . so not only is she hustling around meeting his medical needs, she must also pause and perch on a bedside (<b><i>appearing as if she had all the time in the world</i>!</b>) to chat and otherwise entertain, unassisted. The Matron is on solo social duty because of what she lacks, the absence: everybody else.<br />
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While the Matron feigns Repose with her firstborn, her head is exploding with the list of Stuff that Must Get Done -- from sabbatical project to book promotion to pain medication to malt-making to dog-walking. That Stuff inserts itself into the Matronly mind to claw and carp: wash me! Walk me! Write me!<br />
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The things taking up her brain space -- those chores, that Stuff, -- are also currently <b><i>absent</i></b>. Here she is, sitting by the bedside, ministering to the ailing. Her outside demeanor? Well! Florence Nightinggale could take a page! Invisible to others, yet structuring the Matron's own experience of this moment, is what she is <i>not </i>doing. She is sitting here. She is not writing. She can only be sitting here because she is not writing. Again, defined by what's absent.<br />
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These, friends, are the sorts of thoughts that currently clutter the Matronly mind and shape her experience. Feel sorry for her. She is not just caring for the ailing while unloading the dishwasher and every other damn thing, but she must do so while awash in semiotics.<br />
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Now, that's a tricky way to live.<br />
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Unloading the dishwasher, awash in semiotics. <br />
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And on another -- more Reality Driven -- note entirely.<br />
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Kicks Like a Girl goes to Ardis. Send details to mpetrie33 at gmail dot com. <br />
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<br />Minnesota Matronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16565431067927240183noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7381811875173852585.post-53555355822003115572014-08-05T20:06:00.002-07:002014-08-05T20:06:32.802-07:00From the Minivan<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"> .The Matron is driving her son. Everywhere. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Merrick: "Mom, when do you get paid?"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Matron: "Friday."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Merrick (SHOOTS UP, LIT): "FRIDAY! You get paid on FRIDAY?!! What are we going to DO! How are you going to spend that money?! Are we getting a new van finally?"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Matron: "Well, no. We're going to pay some bills and buy groceries. As usual. Why?"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />Merrick: "But that's an AWFUL lot of money. Don't you get like $XX,XXX thousand dollars? On Friday?!!! We get $XX,XXX thousand dollars on FRIDAY!"<br /><br />Matron: "Actually, honey, I don't get paid my entire year's salary all at once."<br /><br />Merrick: "What!?!! You're kidding me."<br /><br />Matron: "No. It gets spread out all year long. I get a little bit every two weeks."<br /><br />Merrick: "Why does your college do that? Does the government know about this? That doesn't seem right."<br /><br />Matron: "That's the way salaries work in America, Merrick. Everybody pretty much gets their money spread out over a year. Inver Hills is absolutely like every other college and company that way."<br /><br />Merrick (shocked): "That is SUCH a strange system.It seems wrong. I mean, if it's your money, why does someone else manage it? And I was really happy about that $XX,XXX on Friday."<br /><br />And so goes the slow slide into reality. Sorry, Merrick.</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Folks -- it's not $XX,XXX thousand dollars, but it's free. And good! Leave a comment and I'll randomly pick someone to receive a copy of Melissa Westemeier's <i>Kicks Like a Girl</i>. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwn2ehh1sMtecifmHp0tpsIiDseKWgV2r4HLct-AfZDGQ493dXVOnCKm25g4bqCtWhHttyJbdxM_FWwzxVzHfIy5tkygE4c9tWKgJLR9nY-1GW2fl3hUNklLf8ag-x8tw3Y9Zk53QVAEo/s1600/Kicks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwn2ehh1sMtecifmHp0tpsIiDseKWgV2r4HLct-AfZDGQ493dXVOnCKm25g4bqCtWhHttyJbdxM_FWwzxVzHfIy5tkygE4c9tWKgJLR9nY-1GW2fl3hUNklLf8ag-x8tw3Y9Zk53QVAEo/s1600/Kicks.jpg" height="320" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Perfect book to slip into a purse and pull out in a grocery line, on the beach, at the red light (okay, maybe not that). But I kept reading, stayed up late to finish it, and laughed out loud -- a lot. </span><br />
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Just like I often do in the minivan . . .<br />
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<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>Minnesota Matronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16565431067927240183noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7381811875173852585.post-15778641416584366102014-07-31T21:18:00.001-07:002014-07-31T21:18:34.275-07:00<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">At Bikram Yoga, every single day -- without variation -- the Matron practices yoga side by side, mat to mat, with a man somewhat older than she is. Let's call him Dear Slightly Older Guy. The Matron and DSOG have sweated together for nearly a year now. They commiserate. They monitor the heat. They foster one another's bad habits. They groan and roll eyes in predictable ways. In sum, they have a relationship, cemented through this year of yoga, side-by-side. DSOG is single, quirky. He lives with his sister. That phrase (he lives with his sister) says much when it applies to a 58 year old man. He is retired from construction work and largely spends his time at yoga, doing odd jobs, pursuing the odd interest here and there. He's pretty much broke. In sum, he is not - as the ladies might put it -- a "CATCH." But he has a good heart and the Matron adores him and their yoga chatter.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">But today! The Matron moved her mat across the room!!! </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">She has her reasons and shares them with him before the class starts. Whispering. Because they are not supposed to talk, but of course, they do. Daily.<br /><br />Matron: "I'm trying to be less rigid. More flexible."<br /><br />DSOG: "Flexible up here. . . in the psyche, right?"<br /><br />Matron: "Yes - I'm too stuck on routine."<br /><br />DSOG: "You know what people are going to think, don't you?"<br /><br />Matron: (having never considered that anyone was going to think anything about this at all): "No, what?"<br /><br />DSOG: "That we're having an affair and we're fighting. Or broke up."<br /><br />Matron: "You're insane. Nobody's thinking that."<br /><br />DSOG: "Nope. That's what people are thinking. They are totally thinking we're having an affair. But there's trouble"<br /><br />Matron: "I can tell you with absolute assurance that not one woman in that locker room ---<i><b> not one</b></i> -- thinks that we are having an affiar."<br /><br />DSOG (disappointed): "Not one? Maybe it's a guy thing?"<br /><br />Matron: "I don't know. Shall we survey the locker rooms? Find out who thinks that the reason I MOVED MY MAT is because I'm having an affair. First conclusion, obviously.<br /><br />DSOG (slight pause, consideration): "I think I'm good, Mary. No need for that survey thing."<br /><br />Matron: "Just keep me posted on our relationship status, as other people perceive it."<br /><br />DSOG: "You got it."<br /><br />And they were good.</span>Minnesota Matronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16565431067927240183noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7381811875173852585.post-11897944184432052392014-07-28T05:49:00.001-07:002014-07-28T05:49:43.580-07:00World Blog Tour<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmdJIr2apKEAt-m77WLYfPNzQPz1h73T5gh4-5Czxr8J6khWWh72ZpWeN2siykJSOKPionSCAXSrzV5mmNsC6UqYkUD9fHwL6u72FG2G8aGUF1MWU3rQwlZaBYMEsyDgrSvybwS7WTGOs/s1600/Books+on+Shelf.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmdJIr2apKEAt-m77WLYfPNzQPz1h73T5gh4-5Czxr8J6khWWh72ZpWeN2siykJSOKPionSCAXSrzV5mmNsC6UqYkUD9fHwL6u72FG2G8aGUF1MWU3rQwlZaBYMEsyDgrSvybwS7WTGOs/s1600/Books+on+Shelf.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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There they are! Her lovelies -- <i>At the End of Magic </i>-- on an actual bona fide bookstore shelf! One of the Matron's friends is, coincidentally and beautifully, the owner of a beloved St. Paul bookstore, <a href="http://the%20red%20balloon%20bookshop./">the Red Balloon Bookshop.</a> Whereas other small, independent bookstore owners might balk at a self-published book on their shelves, this friend immediately <i>offered</i>: "Mary! I will stock your book!"<br />
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Gotta love the power of the female friendship-- power which extends to the Matron's online relationships. She has met this blogger, <a href="http://melissawestemeier.blogspot.com/">Green Girl,</a> in person. That's right. The Matron and Green Girl breathed actual air together. Their children played. Coffee was consumed. It seems to the Matron, at the ripe old age of ( ) that all the good things in her life bloom out of relationships - not money, not accolades, not stuff. <br />
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People.<br />
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So the Matron was thrilled when Melissa AKA Green Girl tapped her to participate in the World Blog Tour, a jaunt through women bloggers who also write books. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivvV3sHA0KccLm_S-jRgBGuboP1qNsmc5RGT5_1agyvdeIObvSgOanMSNWLi4J1hulnBfoZMmcbJOiuFRrcFdUbWnAcOBr6RAK9EZGXvzKMYGHrVomI0FhdWcH2Qtbqr6obIKDl9NtTZk/s1600/Kicks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivvV3sHA0KccLm_S-jRgBGuboP1qNsmc5RGT5_1agyvdeIObvSgOanMSNWLi4J1hulnBfoZMmcbJOiuFRrcFdUbWnAcOBr6RAK9EZGXvzKMYGHrVomI0FhdWcH2Qtbqr6obIKDl9NtTZk/s1600/Kicks.jpg" height="320" width="200" /></a></div>
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Melissa Westemeier has a long list of publications, including the two novels <i>Kicks Like a Girl</i> and <i>Whipped, not Beaten</i>. When she's not busy creating Art, Green Girl is busier creating Family -- she blogs about life with men (three sons, one husband), nature, writing, and work. It's a spot on the internet not to be missed.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqGhT_H4Hac5Eaij-boHmoVk_k6-QkEr7SZ0Z-evXrKdYhNqToDh91D3rOYqswTosiqTL3P95jsG5213-8L_evIil5CzetFILpdWtMMdwUPms99Ncj3DS7tIbDEGN00Ps1R5XHMvGS-V8/s1600/Whipped+Not+Beaten+-+Front+Cover+Only.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqGhT_H4Hac5Eaij-boHmoVk_k6-QkEr7SZ0Z-evXrKdYhNqToDh91D3rOYqswTosiqTL3P95jsG5213-8L_evIil5CzetFILpdWtMMdwUPms99Ncj3DS7tIbDEGN00Ps1R5XHMvGS-V8/s1600/Whipped+Not+Beaten+-+Front+Cover+Only.jpg" height="320" width="216" /></a></div>
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The World Blog Tour asks bloggers to reflect for a moment on writing. Specifically:<br />
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How does your work differ from others in its genre?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Why do you write what you do?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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How does your writing process work?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Like most academics, when faced with four simple questions that could be answered directly and in order, the Matron will most likely prove herself unable to do so. So she will begin and end, instead, with Life Lessons Learned through Writing.<br /><br />When the Matron was a Youngish Miss and had a 1 and 3 year old, time for her dissertation deceased. Done. She was ready to hang up her hat and slide out of graduate school, unfinished. She called her academic advisor and reported her plans to NOT finish her dissertation.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Youngish Miss: "I just can't do it with a 1 and 3 year old. I'm going to drop out."<br /><br />Dissertation Advisor: "I won't let you."<br /><br />That's right, folks. The wise woman on the other end of the phone flatly refused to entertain Youngish Miss's very good <strike>reasons </strike>excuses for disregarding her own life'c calling. Because they were excuses. The dissertation advisor dryly observed that Youngish Miss ---with her great big brain and vast organizing skills -- was probably a kick-ass stay-at-home-mother squandering 8 years of graduate work because making lunches and doing laundry was EASIER than penning a 300 page dissertation, while also making lunches and doing laundry.</span></div>
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This unsympathetic, hard-line approach might not work for all women, but Youngish Miss understood the message. Wise woman on the other end of the life was challenging YM to be the <i>best person</i> she could possibly be -- to do the most difficult work at hand, to complete the intellectual project already launched, despite the two obstacles she herself had created (those two damn children). </div>
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Something clicked for Youngish Miss. She <i>wanted </i>that better self. She <i>wanted</i> that PhD, that "Dr" near her name. She <i>wanted </i>to unpack some of the mysteries remaining in her dissertation. She <i>wanted </i>to write. Desire for an intellectual and creative live was reignited in those few moments -- not that it would be easy, no. But to deny this desire would be to set aside a vital part of herself. </div>
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Fueled, Youngish Miss wrote that damn disseration (nearly 300 pages). Immediately afterward, she finished her first novel, <i>Prairie Rat,</i> and landed a New York literary agent. </div>
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<b>Sidenote: here in the poor cousin Midwest, we are required to be put "New York" in front of anything art-related in order to make ourselves feel viable. </b></div>
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<i>At the End of Magic</i> quickly followed <i>Prairie Rat</i> -- the fate of these books is a another story. For today's purposes, it's the why and how these major pieces came to be. In less than four years, the then Youngish Miss wrote a disseration and two novels while raising two babies and in the end, being pregnant with a third, moving into a new house, and teaching part-time. </div>
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Often, Youngish Miss declined social invitations. She said no to a movie or a potluck. Declined that afternoon walk. She followed a dictate she once read, somewhere: "Skip the party and write the poem. Or you will run out of time." She skipped parties. When people marveled at her self-discipline -- and they did -- she could (and will now) honestly report tha<i>t very little discipine w</i>as involved. It was <b>desire</b>. Desire to be her better self. Desire to write, produce, create. Desire to live the life of the mind. <br />
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Desire, not discipline, carries us. </div>
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If you're able to skip the piece of cake or Snickers bar, it's most likely because you desire the end game (fewer calories, fewer pounds) MORE than you desire that candy bar. Usually, it's the other way around. It's not lack of discipline that means we indulge, but desire for the enticement directly in front of us. It's hard to focus on the desire for something far in the distance, when another type of desire is immediately at hand. Yes - it was hard sometimes to say no to the immediate pay-off of the afternoon out, the trip to the mall with a girlfriend or second glass of wine. But in the end, the Matron learned through these processes -- and largely remembers now -- that the pay-off for those big desires, those life dreams -- are the best ones. </div>
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Desire describes the why and is the process, folks. It feels GOOD.</div>
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Writerly words of wisdom from the Matron.<br />
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<b style="font-style: italic;"> Want it. </b>Whatever "it" is for you.<br />
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<br />Minnesota Matronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16565431067927240183noreply@blogger.com10