tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-279518552024-03-07T01:21:37.748-06:00GRACE ALWAYSFINDING GRACE IN THE ORDINARY AND NOT-SO-ORDINARY MOMENTS OF LIFEBarbara Marincelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748046883382959358noreply@blogger.comBlogger118125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27951855.post-32900622897497421142014-04-04T17:12:00.003-05:002014-04-04T17:12:43.887-05:00I am very sorry for the confusion--I didn't realize this blog was still continued on blogger.<br />
I have moved my blog to http://discoveriesofgrace.wordpress.com under the name of "Everyday Wonders". I apologize for the confusion!Barbara Marincelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748046883382959358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27951855.post-72008425727935051632013-05-29T15:03:00.003-05:002013-05-29T15:54:24.395-05:00i'm back!I'm back!<br />
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I've missed you, my old blog. On my other blog, I decided to change my focus from spirituality to just, well, chatting about everyday life. I finally realized that I was trying to be everything to everyone, and in doing so, I was losing my voice, my authenticity, and my audience too. So I'm back, not just to my old blog, but to myself. Not everyone will like this. But I'd rather be true to myself (tempted to quote <i>Hamlet</i> but I'll spare you) than try to please everyone else!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-mce-href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Grace1918photographEnstrom.jpg" href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Grace1918photographEnstrom.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="English: Minnesota state photograph "Grac..." class="zemanta-img-inserted zemanta-img-configured" data-mce-src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/4/40/Grace1918photographEnstrom.jpg/300px-Grace1918photographEnstrom.jpg" height="233" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/4/40/Grace1918photographEnstrom.jpg/300px-Grace1918photographEnstrom.jpg" title="English: Minnesota state photograph "Grac..." width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(Photo: Minnesota state photograph "Grace" (Photo credit: Wikipedia))</td></tr>
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I have a monster headache today, so instead of rambling on and on, I'm going to repost a little something I quoted for "The Little Things" that is worth repeating:<br />
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<b><i>"You say grace before meals.<br /> All right.<br /> But I say grace before the play and the opera,<br /> And grace before the concert and pantomime,<br /> And grace before I open a book,<br /> And grace before sketching, painting,<br /> Swimming, fencing, boxing, walking, playing, dancing;<br /> And grace before I dip the pen in the ink."<br /> --G.K. Chesterton</i></b><br />
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(I've always loved this picture because it hung in Grandma Resch's kitchen for as far back as I can remember. I always think of her whenever we say grace before dinner...)</div>
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<a href="http://barbaramarincelthelittlethings.wordpress/2013/02/10/you-say-grace">http://barbaramarincelthelittlethings.wordpress.com/2013/02/10/you-say-grace </a><br />
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Barbara Marincelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748046883382959358noreply@blogger.com0Minneapolis, MN, USA44.983334 -93.26666999999997644.8035955 -93.589393499999971 45.1630725 -92.943946499999981tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27951855.post-63982524684110844902013-01-05T19:39:00.001-06:002013-05-29T14:18:03.661-05:00grace in the rubbleI'm adding a new blog! I've decided to try two blogs, one dedicated to living a full and joyful life with chronic health problems, (that's this one, <span style="color: red;">the little things</span>, at barbaramarincelthelittlethings.blogspot.com and this address will not change) and one to focus on the spiritual journey. So I am headed over to wordpress.com to begin my spiritual exploration at <span style="color: red;">graceintherubble.wordpress</span>.com. I've come to feel that I'm trying to do too much with this blog, and not really doing justice to any of the subjects I feel passionate about.<br />
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So I hope you will keep reading about both of my journeys! This blog will also be focusing more on our adoption journey. As we've discovered, it's not easy to adopt when one has chronic health issues, no matter how many letters of recommendation I get from doctors certifying that I'm able to parent a young child. And of course 2012 was jam-packed with medical problems demanding attention, so we were forced to delay our adoption journey for an entire year. Still, I continue to have faith in the Red Thread!<br />
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I will leave you today with our Christmas picture, 2012. We all look as though we have giant heads because it is a self-portrait, taken by me; we discovered my short arms are not an asset for self-portraits! <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoUBNTl9CtFe_bRSkeShGZZHagaaDfjym19xPmJWeNOfcaKy-hRAyAD6H_lV-Mf3WpWiAcBsMRg038_mL5Bkl1PcX1NOYYeVcj1QbqdSBXgU0DdF3-tUNrh4hLZPil-jsVsMq7/s1600/IMG_0334.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoUBNTl9CtFe_bRSkeShGZZHagaaDfjym19xPmJWeNOfcaKy-hRAyAD6H_lV-Mf3WpWiAcBsMRg038_mL5Bkl1PcX1NOYYeVcj1QbqdSBXgU0DdF3-tUNrh4hLZPil-jsVsMq7/s320/IMG_0334.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big heads and red faces--Minnesota winters are cold outside! You will notice the dominance of Fiona, which is suitably proportionate to her role in our family.</td></tr>
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<br />Barbara Marincelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748046883382959358noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27951855.post-43823401953103628832012-12-29T01:11:00.002-06:002012-12-29T01:12:55.840-06:00final friday five for 2012<br />As usual, credit for everything below--except my answers, that is--goes to the wonderful gals over at <a href="http://revgalblogpals.blogspot.com/">R</a><a href="http://revgalblogpals.blogspot.com/">evGalBlo</a><a href="http://revgalblogpals.blogspot.com/">gPals</a>. And I owe them a hearty "thank you" for giving me a some much-needed writing inspiration!<br />
<br />I should mention that I did have my neck surgery last week and the surgeon said the procedure went "swimmingly." I find this reassuring because those raw and burnt nerve endings feel, well, raw and burnt. Not a pleasant sensation. My usual brilliance is most likely lacking today since I'm on pain killers and muscle relaxers, so bear with me.<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444;"> </span><a href="http://draft.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=27951855" name="2839370811420091547"></a>
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<a href="http://revgalblogpals.blogspot.com/2012/12/the-final-friday-five-for-2012-recycle.html">The FINAL Friday Five for 2012: Recycle, Re-Gift, Reflect</a>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-weight: inherit; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 1.8;"><i>As
we take a breather from the busy weekend of Sunday/Christmas Eve,
Christmas Day, it's time to reflect on the past year. It's hard to move
out of this holiday season with its delights and celebrations. Here at
our home, we've barely finished the eggnog. The tree is still up and our
cats delight in knocking off the lower (unbreakable) ornaments. As we
are rounding the final turn on the year 2012, I hope you'll play along
with these questions. :)</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-style: inherit; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 1.8;"><em style="color: #333333; font-style: italic; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 1.8;"><b>RECYCLE:</b></em></span></div>
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<em style="color: #333333; font-style: italic; font-weight: inherit; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 1.8;">1. What is some "old news" this year that you'd like to repeat for 2013?</em></div>
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<em style="color: #333333; font-style: italic; font-weight: inherit; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 1.8;"><i>Saturday lunches and outings with my birthmom, Judy. We try to do this on a fairly regular basis, although it has been difficult to get together for much of this year because of her hip surgery and my neck surgery. My lack of a car doesn't help, either. But we have a lot of fun spending time together. Plus, I finally know where most of my idiosyncrasies originate! Here I though I was eccentric all by my lonesome, only to discover that I inherited most of them from the Lubys! (The others come from growing up a Resch of course.)</i> </em></div>
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<em style="color: #333333; font-style: italic; font-weight: inherit; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 1.8;">2. What "new thing" have you started that you want to keep going in 2013?</em></div>
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<em style="color: #333333; font-style: italic; font-weight: inherit; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 1.8;"><i>Not having neck surgery! Making an effort, through journaling, meditation, prayer, reflection, and reading, to really observe Advent, as a season of waiting and preparation for the gift of the Incarnation. </i></em></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-style: inherit; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 1.8;"><em style="color: #333333; font-style: italic; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 1.8;"><b>RE-GIFT:</b></em></span></div>
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<em style="color: #333333; font-style: italic; font-weight: inherit; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 1.8;">3.
What event, experience or gift would you just as soon "Return to
Sender"? Maybe it was a disastrous sermon, a congregational kerfuffle, a
vacation nightmare, or your own mis-step. It can be funny or sad.</em> </div>
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<i>I would gladly surrender the experience of running a stop sign and crashing into another car this past June! The gentleman driving the other car, luckily, wasn't hurt, but I would up with whiplash and neck surgery. And my darling little GEO Metro was totaled! It wasn't damaged</i> <i>that badly, but the repairs would have cost more than my 16 year-old baby was worth. Monetarily, anyway, disregarding my love for my first car. So we are in the market for a new car, but all we can get for our money is junk. But I can't drive now anyway, temporarily at least!</i></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-style: inherit; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 1.8;"><em style="color: #333333; font-style: italic; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 1.8;"><b>REFLECT:</b></em></span></div>
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<em style="color: #333333; font-style: italic; font-weight: inherit; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 1.8;">4. Share the brightest bit of joy that was a part of your year.</em> </div>
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<i>George and I celebrated our ninth anniversary this October.</i> <i>I think the joy comes from the reassurance of being loved, truly loved, for myself, along with the realization that in nine years we have been through more than many couples endure in a lifetime, and we are still together. And I love him more with each anniversary that goes by. When we got married, I thought I could not possibly love him more than I did, but as time goes by, I find that my love for him grows and evolves, teaching me to appreciate the feeling of contentment that washes over me before I go to sleep, when I see him and Fiona (our dog, naturally) sleeping beside me. Or the simple pleasure of playing frisbee in our backyard together on lovely summer afternoon. </i></div>
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<em style="color: #333333; font-style: italic; font-weight: inherit; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 1.8;">5. Share a picture that says far more than words. (You can use it to illustrate one of the above.)</em> </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/AVvXsEiVfRXvnbl0FsKNFBkWdLH1YSV8H_GjOs8hcQG9IlPD1E_k9aUanp3vU1Imutw1bETS6FG6Pbsp3sVICDvOkLMTY1plkvThXzaVn-VbLVvNXnidGhIt_2g-WUcVadQ-6NfReCZx/s1600/Kieran%2527s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVfRXvnbl0FsKNFBkWdLH1YSV8H_GjOs8hcQG9IlPD1E_k9aUanp3vU1Imutw1bETS6FG6Pbsp3sVICDvOkLMTY1plkvThXzaVn-VbLVvNXnidGhIt_2g-WUcVadQ-6NfReCZx/s320/Kieran%2527s.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">George and me at Kieran's Irish Pub after I lectored at the 4:30 Mass at The Basilica of St. Mary</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-style: inherit; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 1.8;"><em style="color: #333333; font-style: italic; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 1.8;"><b>BONUS:</b></em></span></div>
Share a recipe! I'm in the doldrums and need some healthy eating options
for my menu planning. Soup, stew, main dish, side dish or a healthy
dessert - any and all are welcome!<br />
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<i>This is where I need help, too, desperately! I'm hoping a reader will come to my rescue with a nice slow-cooker recipe, perhaps? Please?!</i><br />
Barbara Marincelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748046883382959358noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27951855.post-78313503311207704332012-12-18T22:39:00.001-06:002012-12-19T11:14:33.330-06:00it's okay to comment, people<i>Edit: After feedback from several readers, I have now turned off that evil little word verification box. Happy commenting! (And if you don't, that's okay, too. I love you anyway.) </i><br />
<br />
Okay, after months of writing on this blog, and getting no comments, it would not be an overstatement to say that, although I write mainly for myself, a little positive (or whatever) feedback would be nice. It's very easy, you do not have to be signed up with Google to do so. Just click where it says "comments" at the bottom of the post, and ID yourself as "anonymous." (Although I'd ask that you please sign your name so I know who you are!) There is also, I'm afraid, one of those squiggly word boxes that make you guess at what the words and numbers actually are; apparently, Google is afraid that you might be a robot, so they make you jump through this hoop.<br />
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Or, if you read this on Facebook Networked Blogs, you can of course always comment in the regular way.<br />
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So, thinking optimistically, I look forward to hearing from you, my friends!Barbara Marincelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748046883382959358noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27951855.post-22523707228724826122012-12-18T21:19:00.000-06:002012-12-18T21:19:51.783-06:00too, too much<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]"> We all reach times when we suddenly feel that we have more to bear than we can handle. Thank goodness I've lived long enough to know this is fact, because for many years, I thought I was all alone, that I was the only one who ever felt inadequate, or selfish, or so overwhelmed that all I could do was crawl under the covers and pray that morning would be a long time coming.</span></span></span><br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]"><br /></span></span></span>
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">Tonight is one of those times. I tell myself I am being silly, as I sit here typing away next to our Christmas tree. I remember every single ornament: who gave it to us, or where we bought it and where and why. There were presents under the tree, until Fiona started trying to unwrap them. (They now repose in an undisclosed location until Christmas morning.) Every day more Christmas cards from friends and family arrive in the mail, reminding me that George and I are part of a whole community of friends and family.</span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKx5OsPTOCSh6P5JIpAuqPG69BtVmoSM5IEP7gs-GVyQRMXWqfjc4yHyS_kpfapi5THEt85tqnbi-1aKZ5zQTR_Rp76y1wcuIBVWlb13NzQWk_puVMrAWm19ICuJuhqC1LKw9G/s1600/IMG_0334.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKx5OsPTOCSh6P5JIpAuqPG69BtVmoSM5IEP7gs-GVyQRMXWqfjc4yHyS_kpfapi5THEt85tqnbi-1aKZ5zQTR_Rp76y1wcuIBVWlb13NzQWk_puVMrAWm19ICuJuhqC1LKw9G/s200/IMG_0334.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]"><br /></span></span></span>
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">Yet all I can do is cry. Last Friday, as we all know, a very sick young man killed 20 children and 7 teachers at an elementary school in Newtown, CT. I've been immersed in discussions/disputes about gun laws, treatment of the seriously mentally ill, grief for the parents and families left behind, as well as for those little darlings who will never graduate, not even from grade school, never travel, go to college, get married.</span></span></span><br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]"><br /></span></span></span>
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">And for some reason I am having an even harder time than usual dealing with the absence of my own parents this year. My dad was like such a little kid about Christmas; he and I always had so much fun together, decorating the the tree (always the day after Thanksgiving), going downtown to see all of the Christmas lights and the mechanized displays in the department store windows, especially Dayton's. Caroling with mom and other parishioners from Incarnation. And every year, until I was 24, sitting between mom and dad at Midnight Mass, hearing the ancient words "For behold I bring you tidings of great joy..." Going up to the Creche afterwards to see the Baby Jesus lying in the manger, and in later years the Choir always sang the Hallelujah Chorus from Messiah immediately after the conclusion of Mass. Holding hands with mom and dad as we prayed in the "words our Savior taught us, Our Father who art in heaven..." and most of all, singing the old, familiar carols, especially my favorite, Silent Night, <i>Stille Nacht, </i>written in Germany so long ago. Now there is new family, warm, loving, caring family. I have a husband, whom I love very much. But I haven't been able to go to Midnight Mass since I lost my mom.</span></span></span><br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]"><i><br /></i></span></span></span>
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">This is, without a doubt, the hardest time of year to be childless. We keep running into one roadblock after another, until I have to shut myself alone in our bedroom so George doesn't have to listen to me crying in hysteric despair. Yes, I feel selfish bringing up our loneliness for a child when I know parents out in Newtown are grieving their lost babies. But grief is grief, and it deserves to be honored and spoken of, regardless of the circumstances, or who is doing the grieving, or why.</span></span></span><br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]"><br /></span></span></span>
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">I'm particularly overwhelmed by my upcoming neck surgery. Less than two days to go now. And I feel so alone, I guess everyone does when they are facing surgery or something similar. Because no one can experience it with you. George is spending the day with me; Friday he's taking me over to my Aunt Jo and cousin Melinda's house, so they can fuss over me, and Sunday my birthmom is coming over to baby me. Plus, I am receiving the Catholic Sacrament of the Sick from one of my favorite priests tomorrow. So I have all of my ducks in a row, so to speak. but I still feel sick to my stomach every time I think about it. Part of my issue here is, yet again (this question has been popping up everywhere the last few days) is WHY. Damn it all, I am sick of being in pain every single blasted day of my life. Why do I have to endure more? Yes, I know other people have it worse. but I have have never understood why that is supposed to make me feel better. I'm supposed to be happy and grateful that at least I'm not suffering the way other people I love are? I don't think so. </span></span></span><br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]"><br /></span></span></span>
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">I guess this is one of those times of, maybe not doubt, so much as feeling so desperately alone. This is why I ask for prayers, because right now I've lost the ability to form the words myself. I guess my tears and my writing tonight will have to be my prayers.</span></span></span><br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]"><br /></span></span></span>
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">I guess a partial answer lies in something I told a friend the night of the tragedy at Sandy Hook, when we were struggling with the question of why, of how, an event so hideously, cosmically wrong could happen:</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]"> </span></span></span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[267].[1][2][1]{comment400703750004108_2802014}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">You
just sound upset, that's all, hon. Don't apologize for that. As to why
this happened...can there possibly be a satisfactory answer? We live in a
violent society. We can work for peace and justice. But does that help right now,
at this very moment? All we know for sure is that God weeps with us, and
that in the end God will wipe away all of our tears, and we will all be
together again. And I always remember that Jesus wept when Lazarus died. He understands our feelings of grief and loss, because He experienced it too. </span></span></span></blockquote>
Amen. Barbara Marincelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748046883382959358noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27951855.post-70571962682394857602012-12-08T17:37:00.000-06:002012-12-08T17:45:39.610-06:00o tannenbaumIn happier news, the house is (mostly) decorated for Christmas! We finally got a pre-lit tree so poor George didn't have to get tangled in the lights, swearing and cursing. Although watching him was one of the highlights of my holidays every year since we got married (nine years in October!!) I don't think George particularly enjoyed it. So we went with the easier solution for him, bless his heart.<br />
<br />
Here are my not-so-fab instagram pictures: <br />
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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;"><img alt="" class="spotlight" src="http://sphotos-b.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-snc7/399196_10151189206916909_452316118_n.jpg" style="height: 520px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 520px;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I bought this at a little German imports Christmas shop in Stillwater with my birthday money from my SIL Beth. It's an angel (not so easy to see from the picture!) saying "Happy Christmas (Frohe Weinachten) in German.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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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;"><img alt="" class="spotlight" src="http://sphotos-a.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-prn1/148227_10151191913356909_1649218683_n.jpg" style="height: 520px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 520px;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The new tree, shown here in all its glory. Except that you can't see the star on top, or the bottom. Better luck next batch of pictures!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Barbara Marincelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748046883382959358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27951855.post-53772157232251294862012-12-08T17:19:00.000-06:002012-12-08T17:19:13.127-06:00me and my neckI haven't written here since September? To be honest, this entire semester has gone by in a blur. Really, I ought to say non-semester, since I've been on medical leave, yet again. This time, it's mostly my neck. Apparently<span style="font-size: small;">, my facet nerves <span style="font-size: small;">are </span>damaged<span style="font-size: small;"> and</span> inflam<span style="font-size: small;">ed <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">a<span style="font-size: small;">s a result of m</span></span>y car accident</span> this summer, so in addition to </span></span></span>the physical therapy I've already had, I need to have an outpatient surgical procedure called a radiofrequency rhizotomy. At least it sounds impressive, eh? (And of course, now the weather is being its usual crazy Minnesota self, so my fibromyalgia is kicking in.)<br />
<br />
<img align="right" alt="" border="1" height="308" hspace="5" src="http://www.backandjointpain.com/images/contentmgmt/RF_Rhizo_2.jpg" style="height: 308px; width: 377px;" vspace="5" width="377" /> <br />
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This is a partial description of the procedure from <a href="http://spineuniverse.com/">SpineUniverse.com</a>:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Once you are ready, you will be given an IV with a mild sedative to keep
you comfortable but awake during the procedure. A local anesthetic
will be used to numb the area where the injection is to be done. An
x-ray machine is then used to guide the exact placement of the
needle/electrode. Once the needle is injected, a mild electrical
current is used to stimulate the nerve and confirm its exact
location. You may feel slight pressure or tingling during this part
of the procedure. Then the electrode is heated to deaden the sensory
nerves. When the procedure is completed, the needle is removed and
the injection site is bandaged.</blockquote>
In fact, the nerves are cauterized (as in burnt, yes) so they can no longer transmit pain signals to the brain. It's obviously a much longer-lasting fix than just having a cortisone shot, which was another option. In my case, the doctor will cauterized my facet nerves from C-4 to C-7 (In normal English, that means four facet nerves in my cervical spine, or neck.) Apparently the procedure itself isn't that bad, because they are going to keep me so sedated I won't even remember the surgery! It's the healing that is going to be the tricky part. It can be fairly agonizing, I've gathered, because my nerves will be raw until scar tissue has a chance to form, which takes at least a week. And it can take up to four weeks for the results from the procedure to become apparent. Ugh. And I'm having it done only five days before Christmas!<br />
<img align="right" alt="" border="1" height="459" hspace="5" src="http://www.backandjointpain.com/images/contentmgmt/FacetNerve.jpg" style="height: 459px; width: 402px;" vspace="5" width="402" /><br />
<br />
I was quite busy feeling sorry for myself the other day when my friend Nadine pointed out how lucky I was. Lucky that I have a problem that medical science can actually fix! Imagine the days not so long ago when people just had to put up with this sort of (at times excruciating) neck pain. I remember thinking about that years ago, when I was seventeen years old and had my two scoliosis surgeries. I have never, ever, forgotten the first time I saw myself after the surgery, reflected in the window at the end of the hall. Even wrapped up in a cheesy hospital robe, I could see that <i>my spine was straight</i>. For the first time in years.<i> I actually looked like all of the other girls I knew. </i>And boy, did the tears ever flow. I still have quite a bit of back pain from the surgeries, and have degenerative disk disease and osteoarthritis in my cervical spine as a result, but I have never once been sorry I had those surgeries.<br />
<br />
Sure, life would be easier without the surgeries and the fibromylagia etc., etc., but I am not powerless in the face of them. And I am so grateful to all those in medical research who care enough to invent procedures and medications that either cure what I have, or enable me to cope better. George is taking a couple of days off work to care for me and then my birthmom is coming over for a day, and she's promised to arrive bearing her delicious manicotti! And I have Fiona to take care of me, as she does so well, lots of books (piled everywhere in our bedroom and downloaded onto my Kindle), and podcasts on my iPod I've been meaning to catch up on. And the house is nice and cozy, decorated for Christmas. Plus I already have several visitors lined up, whether Fiona likes it or not! So in the end, when I think about, it looks as though there will be many benefits beyond the obvious medical ones.<br />
<br />
PS Prayers welcomed! As are lavish get-well gifts, huge flower bouquets, the works!<br />
<br />
Image of spine from: <br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
http://www.backandjointpain.com/injection-procedures/cervical-spine/rhizotomy</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
Barbara Marincelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748046883382959358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27951855.post-16782065859822700652012-09-28T15:26:00.001-05:002012-12-18T22:46:36.220-06:00look back at summer 2012It was the best of times, it was (not quite) the worst of times...<br />
<br />
Among the best were our annual Resch Family Reunion, held at my cousin Verlys' farm up in Pine City (she was living w/mom and dad and was the first Resch to see me!), a Sabas family picnic/Olympics at Resort da Sabas, which doubles as my Aunt Sheila's place, a Fourth of July picnic on Lake Minnetonka, hosted by my Aunt Toddie and Uncle Bob, and sweet summer afternoons sitting out in our backyard with George and Fiona. Also, I got two unbelievably amazing Twins tickets from my friends Gary and Mary Margaret Hoden, so my pal Patti and I went and sat in THE LEGENDS CLUB. Really, I could get used to living like this!<br />
<br />
There were only two things to make my summer less than happy: my birthmom had hip surgery (she's doing great now, in the hospital they called her a rock star), and I sort of totaled my car and wound up with a very nasty, mean case of whiplash. So I have no car, plus I'm having neck pain and headaches; however, I've started physical therapy and my doctor is being very kind about muscle relaxers, so I am hanging in there, albeit not at top speed. Well, there was a third--namely, a huge PTSD flare when some new memories surfaced. I was tormented by flashbacks and nightmares for a while, but thanks to the help of God and my beloved therapist, I'm doing much better now. As usual, I can't say enough about the support and love of all my family, especially George. <br />
<br />
Oh yes, one other highlight of my summer was the opportunity to have dinner at Bulldog NE with my two stepbrothers, Alex and Kelley, and George was even able to join us! Kelley lives in Tokyo so I only get to see him a few times a year, and Alex keeps incredibly busy with his band Deadweight (he is the drummer--and an awesome one too in my totally unbiased opinion) and school, PLUS an August trip to Vietnam with his lovely (fiancée?) Tee (Tina). So it was extra special for the four of us to get to spend some time together--every time I see either of my brothers, I like them more! It's beyond cool to grow up an only child and suddenly gain a couple of little brothers. <br />
<br />
When I look back at my summer, I have to admit that despite the PTSD and car accident, it was a blessed time of love and laughter. I'm attempting to upload a bunch of pictures on my mobile, so we will see how the Great Photo experiment goes!<br />
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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://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-HiyZI12wPjg/UGYSmHO2i2I/AAAAAAAAAzY/nmnMPF7g0H8/s640/blogger-image-1243647676.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-HiyZI12wPjg/UGYSmHO2i2I/AAAAAAAAAzY/nmnMPF7g0H8/s400/blogger-image-1243647676.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Resch Reunion</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLyMtb9ufdDNT2vdgYKowTQQurH-pNehYRASOA9tB9Pdb4N9iRBoG_LOW59yOLSTp0PDshSQWoT08_uD0inmgOd49xODo8R_Vngs1oI8qmJ3XivoHfAXf1CBj0OqKORRlgSSJ3/s640/blogger-image--1698098609.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLyMtb9ufdDNT2vdgYKowTQQurH-pNehYRASOA9tB9Pdb4N9iRBoG_LOW59yOLSTp0PDshSQWoT08_uD0inmgOd49xODo8R_Vngs1oI8qmJ3XivoHfAXf1CBj0OqKORRlgSSJ3/s400/blogger-image--1698098609.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me with lovely Sabas cousins Elissa and Deanna</td></tr>
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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/AVvXsEjnkG0__iZm28BQEBxkyxi594rLnvgZyKjoGITCTKsDZoi17sB-t_GzovCQz_m-aB-4apNEojd6ZCQMS5Eo3OweYufDvBHuGpQMrn51i-D703qbVWSA0vey1pt0Ot7zYZce6UCu/s640/blogger-image--928376085.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnkG0__iZm28BQEBxkyxi594rLnvgZyKjoGITCTKsDZoi17sB-t_GzovCQz_m-aB-4apNEojd6ZCQMS5Eo3OweYufDvBHuGpQMrn51i-D703qbVWSA0vey1pt0Ot7zYZce6UCu/s400/blogger-image--928376085.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sandi Sybrandt and family at Resch Reunion</td></tr>
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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/AVvXsEjaGPI59WpA9NURP9XQF2QxU7HLbmJ9vrgjTbS1Z1Molj5CqA1NfRs9YKaGPi9DvjAItvpJhlZH4q0IyJsc-VtgBZrqcQl-o1lU_0yECSevVjbSOPwCsDxJvgcKnIo-Zvw162bw/s640/blogger-image--665408174.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaGPI59WpA9NURP9XQF2QxU7HLbmJ9vrgjTbS1Z1Molj5CqA1NfRs9YKaGPi9DvjAItvpJhlZH4q0IyJsc-VtgBZrqcQl-o1lU_0yECSevVjbSOPwCsDxJvgcKnIo-Zvw162bw/s400/blogger-image--665408174.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My poor Metro!!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-2ADt7YAoi68/UGYSt4fYQjI/AAAAAAAAA0I/lYj_Br4n6tc/s640/blogger-image-347520435.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="399" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-2ADt7YAoi68/UGYSt4fYQjI/AAAAAAAAA0I/lYj_Br4n6tc/s400/blogger-image-347520435.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Instagram version, Elissa, Deanna, and me</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij255a-Yp0wZOUIaCVy9rj6blPFNm6P6iPJo_oH41FrUHkswK-BD70Zp5xUAUtlU-ie57GfP-NtkkpCcLMih91UOxxzbjNjX93p27LgyAj-kS4Vrj57fDJfRMbtduea85YzIUE/s640/blogger-image--1537699580.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij255a-Yp0wZOUIaCVy9rj6blPFNm6P6iPJo_oH41FrUHkswK-BD70Zp5xUAUtlU-ie57GfP-NtkkpCcLMih91UOxxzbjNjX93p27LgyAj-kS4Vrj57fDJfRMbtduea85YzIUE/s400/blogger-image--1537699580.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sabas gals!!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ-kL5fWHbhCCpCD4Vd4fLGoQL2FyKFgmBxlBVtUHeV0k103TH1MGKbi3AvrMHbs2ZZCNBxrT5nAwSVRnS4nww8dk6QGn1WHsNQvLho3J4BFWI3IJaafjRsm50qtH1ulHpo5Qz/s640/blogger-image--1802462742.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ-kL5fWHbhCCpCD4Vd4fLGoQL2FyKFgmBxlBVtUHeV0k103TH1MGKbi3AvrMHbs2ZZCNBxrT5nAwSVRnS4nww8dk6QGn1WHsNQvLho3J4BFWI3IJaafjRsm50qtH1ulHpo5Qz/s400/blogger-image--1802462742.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kelita and Levi Robertson at Resch Reunion</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH7DzTncNJiBEp5Ql99pgrWHS5cnkD855VxyoUy2hsUFoUbGbBGZjIzL1Q8Y6ubsSLcr8t-JlUnkliAt3HI1YFG-5ovOOtjQwAOYWGSOizalp-xvpnsIWkieC9yH0zmdqNctUS/s640/blogger-image--2113361149.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH7DzTncNJiBEp5Ql99pgrWHS5cnkD855VxyoUy2hsUFoUbGbBGZjIzL1Q8Y6ubsSLcr8t-JlUnkliAt3HI1YFG-5ovOOtjQwAOYWGSOizalp-xvpnsIWkieC9yH0zmdqNctUS/s400/blogger-image--2113361149.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mari-Lea and Kathy Oberg and Aunt Jo, Resch Reunion</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggeieW2WSlY0ADs7lnCxNM_84DFnLFYWcvy9t2cvJScSToMzd1lhJisweqHuv-qyTN03xCNX1q5LjfF712uajRdz3LXgspWSh1LC6VPtj17Hh1NhFxAvDPExi8UTU5w-_JLTLA/s640/blogger-image--1412468004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggeieW2WSlY0ADs7lnCxNM_84DFnLFYWcvy9t2cvJScSToMzd1lhJisweqHuv-qyTN03xCNX1q5LjfF712uajRdz3LXgspWSh1LC6VPtj17Hh1NhFxAvDPExi8UTU5w-_JLTLA/s400/blogger-image--1412468004.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Resch cousins come all the way from Montana!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcqvGpqJzVes3mET2P9vSIxK7EblBfRGwiqcsGirNCRtHKRIlmyS7Qr3ltiJlt9XGmT-ZJ6W5Y_lGvXEhyphenhyphenRPK_xiUnRiav-GAh4eTm8WCs_drsx_tBvB57P0Fq4Rs200cuJA6R/s640/blogger-image-624128277.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcqvGpqJzVes3mET2P9vSIxK7EblBfRGwiqcsGirNCRtHKRIlmyS7Qr3ltiJlt9XGmT-ZJ6W5Y_lGvXEhyphenhyphenRPK_xiUnRiav-GAh4eTm8WCs_drsx_tBvB57P0Fq4Rs200cuJA6R/s400/blogger-image-624128277.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me with Auntie Sheila (Sabas)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTi2Bod47ACm6rL_wzAPAxyI7Wn02xe1TtYgOhIYr0bWr3DQHSQcZIxi-fupMX8WwZSlxqjg71tJOXd3Vy06cQ5mK4LCTSezD-HIQ00hM4KF7xvJHnkFQ-WtjN18SAAFRzXOsQ/s640/blogger-image-1373531341.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTi2Bod47ACm6rL_wzAPAxyI7Wn02xe1TtYgOhIYr0bWr3DQHSQcZIxi-fupMX8WwZSlxqjg71tJOXd3Vy06cQ5mK4LCTSezD-HIQ00hM4KF7xvJHnkFQ-WtjN18SAAFRzXOsQ/s400/blogger-image-1373531341.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My sleepy Fiona (with her favorite toy)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-HARsfRhKB4A/UGYSzBi132I/AAAAAAAAA1Y/k4ltIxI4EUk/s640/blogger-image--881450556.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-HARsfRhKB4A/UGYSzBi132I/AAAAAAAAA1Y/k4ltIxI4EUk/s400/blogger-image--881450556.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Joe and Nancy Mallery, Linda and Breanna Cook, Resch Reunion</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC7FaUEvT7A1Jmw1-XFE_jzmDBnJk8w9wkgXhDM8Hn8QpdZSMSIhyvhG76GREq_yUN-EHBF-94h7RQslrN0iuOChW6iGjTV8OmDgFTIUnWJ6_u6pgkOzjpT12vOVqKGU0pif1J/s640/blogger-image--2057954336.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="393" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC7FaUEvT7A1Jmw1-XFE_jzmDBnJk8w9wkgXhDM8Hn8QpdZSMSIhyvhG76GREq_yUN-EHBF-94h7RQslrN0iuOChW6iGjTV8OmDgFTIUnWJ6_u6pgkOzjpT12vOVqKGU0pif1J/s400/blogger-image--2057954336.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sabas Olympics!! (Bocce Ball)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrJ73EVeChzp1NWrNx6LM83WSZtP9U5jHNtengqZ6x7cHa52FV-thHru5mod78Oi7-zMdjaPgU9Cq9oTN-2oxyEDrFw4Fqkr6ywFK5ypdvSiGnLvXu8XFDlEE5Hztv558EMexF/s640/blogger-image-1700440480.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrJ73EVeChzp1NWrNx6LM83WSZtP9U5jHNtengqZ6x7cHa52FV-thHru5mod78Oi7-zMdjaPgU9Cq9oTN-2oxyEDrFw4Fqkr6ywFK5ypdvSiGnLvXu8XFDlEE5Hztv558EMexF/s640/blogger-image-1700440480.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fiona snoozing</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-mUb7uzYwqMU/UGYS1eAmWqI/AAAAAAAAA14/YoY8U-asshk/s640/blogger-image-427853025.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-mUb7uzYwqMU/UGYS1eAmWqI/AAAAAAAAA14/YoY8U-asshk/s640/blogger-image-427853025.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Naptime for George and Fiona</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSqMhcQ-Ccn266LD4YET8ZxtDrICnwn10dmpK_j_zPkx6BCZFnpYdjUivMenkG7vRAjvj8awHAAl5OTgym9NzNvvJS0l50MYUf-8fJI1AZeCb0ThoEVaL8Pd3Fl32jKArjpMSO/s640/blogger-image--1869661591.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSqMhcQ-Ccn266LD4YET8ZxtDrICnwn10dmpK_j_zPkx6BCZFnpYdjUivMenkG7vRAjvj8awHAAl5OTgym9NzNvvJS0l50MYUf-8fJI1AZeCb0ThoEVaL8Pd3Fl32jKArjpMSO/s400/blogger-image--1869661591.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Patti and me with Kirby Puckett!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-c42ZhMY79Rs/UGYS4Hz2HHI/AAAAAAAAA2g/Z7IlfnXWpWQ/s640/blogger-image-1754439960.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-c42ZhMY79Rs/UGYS4Hz2HHI/AAAAAAAAA2g/Z7IlfnXWpWQ/s640/blogger-image-1754439960.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me with Harmon "The Killer" Killebrew!!!!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFkGjr2vfoRcWwMWCijleq445UNcVzlIrAuIPlQQiCjEY2-j6yLrQI87wO2caleeWCVOMGnDAUXs7iYGil1Olgsp7eQecedSOEVRLeCm6hTMik_WHofbFvvDkCPgFMGBVOHtd4/s640/blogger-image-1564841086.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFkGjr2vfoRcWwMWCijleq445UNcVzlIrAuIPlQQiCjEY2-j6yLrQI87wO2caleeWCVOMGnDAUXs7iYGil1Olgsp7eQecedSOEVRLeCm6hTMik_WHofbFvvDkCPgFMGBVOHtd4/s640/blogger-image-1564841086.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">George and me enjoying a drink at Kieran's after mass at the Basilica</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-KhIPUHf4J5g/UGYS5MCUy2I/AAAAAAAAA2w/g8yrK_vUl3w/s640/blogger-image--423815382.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-KhIPUHf4J5g/UGYS5MCUy2I/AAAAAAAAA2w/g8yrK_vUl3w/s640/blogger-image--423815382.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A truly awful picture of me with my beloved aunties Marie, Jo, and Julie, Resch Reunion</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_BxitkMLsWKSHYSxstq3MCCb2LiKDYPnDmyA4jRvIdW2G6PWD2ECgJN92evc4bKZf_sWceWpJZ-S-8LdcWxjAD-uvjcs2EFNhchEPItsH-UM0PfftvXoOTt629EBl6fuBBEN0/s640/blogger-image-313780466.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_BxitkMLsWKSHYSxstq3MCCb2LiKDYPnDmyA4jRvIdW2G6PWD2ECgJN92evc4bKZf_sWceWpJZ-S-8LdcWxjAD-uvjcs2EFNhchEPItsH-UM0PfftvXoOTt629EBl6fuBBEN0/s400/blogger-image-313780466.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aunt Marie, Aunt Jo, Aunt Julie, Resch Reunion</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My sleepy baby!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC-IGCmzvJEE8SUHwUiWt-7jaU_XWjLI6oAGnkH0ELuBlk5WGD6FXsNsWAMyBuEXT1lwq9KUvrIN34vfAD49gEPd66zzCSW-BOTq3or1bT_9ownTsbSatKwGDyLv3AlTu-hrqe/s640/blogger-image--2038452563.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC-IGCmzvJEE8SUHwUiWt-7jaU_XWjLI6oAGnkH0ELuBlk5WGD6FXsNsWAMyBuEXT1lwq9KUvrIN34vfAD49gEPd66zzCSW-BOTq3or1bT_9ownTsbSatKwGDyLv3AlTu-hrqe/s400/blogger-image--2038452563.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Joni-lea and Faith at Sabas picnic</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzyVV2VtwvuYm7fUwvVnD9YLxn33Kwhk5QrZJMpe030hJrbVR5aDeitqNcVeC-h6b4B19tt7uTpkPHBL6ynqjApfwq-3aJEaQb8Dy4GAv0nJ7mKfSj-EGDgZztB-Sw2vu5M6nw/s640/blogger-image--1093764765.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzyVV2VtwvuYm7fUwvVnD9YLxn33Kwhk5QrZJMpe030hJrbVR5aDeitqNcVeC-h6b4B19tt7uTpkPHBL6ynqjApfwq-3aJEaQb8Dy4GAv0nJ7mKfSj-EGDgZztB-Sw2vu5M6nw/s400/blogger-image--1093764765.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wildflowers finally bloom in August, turn out to be Goldenrod (relative of the Evil Ragweed)</td></tr>
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Barbara Marincelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748046883382959358noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27951855.post-624338626086651762012-08-29T18:55:00.004-05:002012-08-29T19:37:03.944-05:00you know you have fibromyalgia when...<span style="color: #0067ce; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i> <span style="color: red;">This list comes courtesy of the </span></i><span style="color: red;">Fibromyalgia Network.</span> </b><span style="color: black;">I was thrilled to find this--it totally captures most of my days lately!!! If you have fibro too, see if you can relate!! (It also explains why I have so sorely neglected you, my poor little blog...)</span><b><i><br /></i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><i> </i></b>You Know You Have Fibro When... </span><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: small;"> your 80-year-old mother phones to tell you she has already done her shopping, washing, daily emails, and been to the post office, but you're still trying to get washed and dressed! </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: small;"> you get lost in your own house (and it's only a small three-bed semi).</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: small;"> you wake up in the middle of the might and grab a Hershey's kiss on the way back from the bathroom and wake up with chocolate all over the pillow... more than once.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: small;"> you ask your son if his brother is out of the dishwasher yet! (Meant to say shower.)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: small;"> you’re making peanut butter cookies and just put the jar of peanut butter in the oven to bake.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: small;"> you use hair spray on your armpits and spray deodorant in your hair.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: small;"> you stop at a stop sign and wait for it to turn green.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: small;"> you find the Christmas presents you hid two years ago.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: small;"> you go get something from the fridge, leave your phone in the fridge and try to answer the ice cream pop when you hear something ring.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: small;"> you take the cordless phone and point it at the TV, and are so frustrated you cannot get your afternoon soap.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: small;"> you sit politely waiting at the pharmacy but they've already given you your purchases and have gone back to their other jobs.</span></li>
</ul>
Barbara Marincelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748046883382959358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27951855.post-83195592472075076282012-05-20T16:47:00.000-05:002012-05-22T09:09:52.280-05:00the little thingsYes, I'm changing my title again, for the third time. So far it has gone from "redhead report" to "gifts in the rubble" to, as of today, "the little things."I am only 5'1" after all.<br />
<br />
I decided to change the name because the title "gifts in the rubble" was, supposedly anyway, more about the grace we find when we are going through "the dark night of the soul." (And that phrase comes from John of the Cross. I must have Carmelite mystics on the brain.) I have been there many, too many, times throughout my life, for various reasons. I don't want to ignore that, but I want to emphasize that grace is everywhere, that we are surrounded by God's grace and presence at all times and all places.<br />
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I have neglected my poor blog terribly over the last couple of years. Part of it was because I was experiencing chronic migraines--I've had to take two medical leaves from grad school--which have finally been cured, by Botox injections, as of the end of March!! I still have fibromyalgia, etc., to deal with, but the fibro I can cope with. Migraines just sent me straight to a dark room, literally and figuratively.<br />
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But I realized the other day that I haven't even mentioned one of the most important and exciting events in my life: I met my birthmom! (Okay, so this is NOT a little thing, although she is!) And I totally love her; she is such a sweetheart. Warm, kind, generous, intelligent, and of course, five feet tall. And she's a lot of fun, too. And I've even met my birthfather's family, and now I know where I get my red hair and skin that refuses to tan, ever. I'll write more about this next time, but I'll lever you with a couple of pictures of the two of us until next time.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihMtAzsbURe_pf-qOH6nJXlRu1gUJPPHt0e7C3fKob9Z7BLWYV3LQkbv8yi5pRM2ArORSl8IVoq3zPnW46FJTFDkDJncb3PT9GofCjjl6ej5WTBk7EzsB2Li43owYrYpO3gCNq/s1600/7075601621_24610f238a_s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihMtAzsbURe_pf-qOH6nJXlRu1gUJPPHt0e7C3fKob9Z7BLWYV3LQkbv8yi5pRM2ArORSl8IVoq3zPnW46FJTFDkDJncb3PT9GofCjjl6ej5WTBk7EzsB2Li43owYrYpO3gCNq/s320/7075601621_24610f238a_s.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mom (Judy) and me, Xmas 2010</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-szILPDT1nIo/T7lkeS657HI/AAAAAAAAAYg/DJbY-SayvbM/s1600/mom+and+me+polaroid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-szILPDT1nIo/T7lkeS657HI/AAAAAAAAAYg/DJbY-SayvbM/s400/mom+and+me+polaroid.jpg" width="342" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The two of us right after we met, in August 2010,</td></tr>
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One comment, though, before I go. My love for her does not any way change the love I still have for my adopted mom and dad. There is not a day that goes by that I don't think of them, and miss them. It was my mom (Millie) who told me that hearts are infinitely expandable. As usual, mom, you were right!Barbara Marincelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748046883382959358noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27951855.post-86014012037660830772012-02-25T00:31:00.000-06:002012-02-26T16:07:33.679-06:00friday five...a day late (well, a few minutes late!)<h3 class="post-title entry-title">
<a href="http://revgalblogpals.blogspot.com/2012/02/emptiness-friday-five.html">Emptiness Friday Five.....</a>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV76upBUpU3-Jj3Ohyphenhyphentg-yQ-2Q-Vbg7OZv5v1hCPaHtC-gqnv4TX70JXZjzv-CA8IWfT4n7J0i2OVkmxxUyU3mW_w03bWWGNybZRHMh-wyQvf8e6MAqQ3RjynwMlFZIKfFVWQj5g/s1600/woman+dancing.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV76upBUpU3-Jj3Ohyphenhyphentg-yQ-2Q-Vbg7OZv5v1hCPaHtC-gqnv4TX70JXZjzv-CA8IWfT4n7J0i2OVkmxxUyU3mW_w03bWWGNybZRHMh-wyQvf8e6MAqQ3RjynwMlFZIKfFVWQj5g/s200/woman+dancing.jpg" width="154" /></a></div>
This Friday five comes courtesy of Sally over at <a href="http://revgalblogpals.blogspot.com/">RevGalBlogPals</a>! (You don't think I could come up with something like this myself, do you?)<br />
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<b>I have been pondering this Friday Five over and over in my mind, but I
am coming up with nothing, so I am wondering; what do you do when you
feel empty of all creativity and unable to make/do anything? This is a
completely open question, the only rule is name 5 things that fill/
inspire you:</b><br />
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Well, this is a tough question for me to answer, given the way I've been feeling physically/emotionally/ spiritually these last few months, so perhaps this is just the time for me to give this a whirl.<br />
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1. Being surrounded by my family. Although I'm an only child, my dad was the third eldest of eleven children, so I grew up surrounded by aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins, great-aunts, great-uncles, and at the center of it all, my grandmother, the most warm, generous, and loving woman I've ever known. So then I wound up marrying a man who, amongst his other stellar qualities, just happens to have almost as many cousins as I do! (I have 44.) Not to mention he's the baby of six siblings. Our wedding was huge. and, incidentally, I'm a proud great-auntie myself now, several times over. And now I'm in contact with both sides of my birthparents' families, who, yes, are also part of large extended families. Naturally. I have more family than I know what to do with! And I love it, especially now that my folks are gone, because to me, family is home and love and laughter.<br />
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2. Walking, sitting, gazing out on the water of the North Shore of Lake Superior. It soothes me, slows down my mind and body, and fills me with the presence of God.<br />
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3. Feeling forgiven, truly forgiven, whether by another human being or by God. It is the only thing that heals the brokenness I feel inside when I know I have wronged someone, whether it be by "what I have done or by what I have failed to do."<br />
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4. Going through my parents' old pictures, letters, etc. It never fails to bring back floods of memories, some sad, some happy, most of which make me laugh until I cry. Which reminds me that I HAVE to get my hands on that new set of Laurel and Hardy movies, even if it is astronomically expensive. After all of the hours the three of us spent watching those movies...<br />
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5. Doing something for someone else. During the Depression, my Grandma Resch never, ever turned a hobo away when they came by asking for food, despite the family's poverty and all of the mouths she had to feed. She always found something to fix for them, and even something extra to make the plate look nice. My parents carried on this tradition, and one of my biggest frustrations of my current run of migraines is that I'm stuck at home all of the time, which keeps me from doing any of the things I'd normally do to pay it forward, so to speak. After all, I didn't choose the Prayer of St. Francis for both of my parents' remembrance cards for nothing. I chose it as words to live by.<br />
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<br /><br />Barbara Marincelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748046883382959358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27951855.post-35448301056487585372011-02-25T00:45:00.012-06:002011-10-14T18:41:02.703-05:00two truths and a lieWell, it looks as though I am being dragged back into the blogosphere despite a monster migraine, lured by my friend Liz over at <a href="http://lunargoat.blogspot.com/"><b>Random Thoughts of a Lutheran Geek</b></a>, who is running a "Two Truths and a Lie Blog Carnival" this weekend, darn her. It's based upon the childhood game where you tell three truths about yourself, except that one, of course, is a lie, and everyone else has to guess which one the lie is. We usually played it at slumber parties and, truth be told, I was never very good at it, because I always blushed (the curse of the Irish for you) and giggled when I told my lie. At least here I have the advantage of not being seen!<br />
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So, here are my three, um, truths:<br />
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1 I thought about becoming an Episcopalian priest.<br />
2. I was once engaged to the son of a millionaire.<br />
3. I was once interviewed on MPR.<br />
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So go to the comments section and make your guesses! And then play along on your own blog, link up and hop around the blogs to get to know each other better. We will reveal the correct answers on our original posts on Monday February 28th so stop back to see if you were right!<br />
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<i><b>Note: I revealed my correct answers in my comments section by mistake. You will find that I like to be different. Or difficult, depending upon your interpretation! And I was late besides--oops! </b></i></div>
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</script>Barbara Marincelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748046883382959358noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27951855.post-6802913075145542010-01-15T13:29:00.007-06:002011-02-25T16:46:30.429-06:00seventeen years??????My dad's funeral was 17 years ago today. It's amazing to think so much time has passed, when I thought I could never live without him. But I discovered that I can, because he is now a part of me and I am never alone, never without him, and I know that he will never be truly lost to me. St. Leonard, a member of the communion of saints. It's not that I don't still grieve, and sometimes I miss him so much my heart, literally, aches, but the grief has changed; gradually, the comfort of my memories and my sense of his presence has finally outweighed the pain. Most of the time...<br /><br /><blockquote>Certain smells, certain moments when I feel unloved, certain aspects of the Christmas rituals, and hundreds of other ordinary details of life, will reopen the wound. But at least now I can let it bleed for a while and go on. At least now I can be open, not only to those painful moments, but also to the many joys of my life.<br /> --Joyce Barrington</blockquote>Barbara Marincelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748046883382959358noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27951855.post-60862945924797436312010-01-14T14:27:00.005-06:002011-02-25T16:38:13.093-06:00HaitiTuesday afternoon, I was slumped on the couch, watching cable, stuffed full of antibiotics and feeling quite sorry for myself. A sinus infection, infections in both ears and both eyes; I felt (still feel) like one big oozing infection. Then the news of the Haiti earthquake came over the news. Looking at my full medicine cabinet, not to mention my full cupboards and my nice comfy bed, knowing where my loved ones are and that they're okay, makes it tough to feel truly sorry for myself.<br /><br />If you want to help, consider donating to Catholic Relief Services--they do great work!<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://crs-blog.org/crs-commits-5-million-to-haiti%E2%80%99s-quake-survivor-relief/">CRS Commits $5 Million to Haiti’s Quake Survivor Relief</a><br /><br />Posted using <a href="http://sharethis.com/">ShareThis</a>Barbara Marincelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748046883382959358noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27951855.post-7743457823148671052010-01-03T13:56:00.012-06:002011-02-25T16:49:32.810-06:00books: 2009<ol><li><span style="font-style: italic;">The Eucharist and the Hunger of the World,</span> Monika K. Hellwig</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews,</span> Paula Fredriksen</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">The Misunderstood Jew: The Church and the Scandal of the Jewish Jesus,</span> Amy-Jill Levine</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Fortress Introduction to The Gospels,</span> Mark Allan Powell</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Social Science Commentary on the Synoptic Gospels,</span> Bruce J. Malina and Richard Rohrbach</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">John, the Maverick Gospel,</span> Robert Kysar</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Written that you May Believe: Encountering Jesus in the Fourth Gospel,</span> Sandra M. Schneiders, IHM<br /></li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">The Middle Ages,</span> Morris Bishop</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Models of the Church,</span> Avery Dulles, SJ</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">The Sacred Pipe,</span> Joseph Brown</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">A New Christian Paradigm: The Making of Post-Protestant Christianity,</span> Ben M. Carter</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Jesus and the Quest for Meaning,</span> Thomas H. West</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">The Church Unfinished: Ecclesiology Through the Centuries,</span> Bernard K. Prusak</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Salt: A World History,</span> Mark Kurlansky</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Cod: A Biography of the Fish that Changed the World,</span> Mark Kurlansky</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Jesus as a Figure in History: How Modern Historians View the Man from Galilee, </span>Mark Kurlansky</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Paul--A Jew on the Margins,</span> Calvin J. Roetzel</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">The Spirituality of Paul,</span> Thomas H. Tobin</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Navigating Paul: An Introduction to Key Theological Concepts,</span> Jouette M. Bassler</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Angela's Ashes</span>, Frank McCourt</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">The Hollow Crown: A History of Britain in the Late Middle Ages,</span> Miri Rubin</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom,</span> John O'Donohue</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">The Lost: A Search for Six of Six Million,</span> Daniel Mendelsohn</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Whitethorn Woods,</span> Maeve Binchy</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Saxons, Vikings, and Celts: The Genetic Roots of Britain & Ireland</span>, Bryan Sykes</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">The Shadow of the Wind,</span> Carlos Ruiz Zafon</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">The Rule of Four</span>, Ian Caldwell and Dustin Thomason</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">The Children of Henry VIII,</span> Alison Weir</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">On Hitler's Mountain: Overcoming the Legacy of a Nazi Childhood,</span> Irmgard A. Hunt</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">My Life with the Saints,</span> James Martin, SJ</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">The Monster of Florence: A True Story, </span>Douglas Preston with Mario Spezi</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Sailing the Wine-Dark Sea: Why the Greeks Matter,</span> Thomas Cahill</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">How the Irish Saved Civilization,</span> Thomas Cahill</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Christianity Rediscovered,</span> Vincent J. Donovan</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Doors to the Sacred: A Historical Introduction to Sacraments in the Catholic Church,</span> Joseph Martos</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">The Catholic Myth: The Behavior and Beliefs of American Catholics,</span> Andrew Greeley</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">The Amber Room: The Fate of the World's Greatest Lost Treasure,</span> Catherine Scott-Clark and Adrian Levy</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">No Place Like Home,</span> Mary Higgins Clark</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">The Great Influenza: The Epic Story of the Deadliest Plague in History,</span> John Barry<br /></li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">The Last Knight: The Twilight of the Middles Ages and the Birth of the Modern Era, </span>Norman Cantor</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Soldier from the War Returning: The Greatest Generation's Troubled Homecoming from World War II,</span> Thomas Childers</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">The Basque History of the World,</span> Mark Kurlansky</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Catherine the Great: Love, Sex, and Power,</span> Virginia Rounding</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Elizabeth and Mary: Cousins, Rivals, and Queens,</span> Jane Dunn</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Devil's Brood,</span> Sharon Kay Penman</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Falls the Shadow: A Novel,</span> Sharon Kay Penman</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Queen Emma and the Vikings: Power, Love and Greed in 11th Century England,</span> Harriet O'Brien</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Time and Chance,</span> Sharon Kay Penman</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Dragon's Lair,</span> Sharon Kay Penman</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">The Queen's Man: A Medieval Mystery,</span> Sharon Kay Penman</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">When Christ and his Saints Slept,</span> Sharon Kay Penman</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">The Reckoning,</span> Sharon Kay Penman</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">The Sunne in Splendor: A Novel of Richard III,</span> Sharon Kay Penman</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">The Year 1000: What Life was Like at the Turn of the First Millennium,</span> Robert Lacey and Danny Danziger</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Here be Dragons,</span> Sharon Kay Penman</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Walking on a Rolling Deck: Life on the Ark,</span> Kathy Berken</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">The Civilization of the Middle Ages,</span> Norman Cantor</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Mistress of the Monarchy: The Life of Katherine Swynford, Duchess of Lancaster</span>, Alison Weir</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Lucia: A Venetian Life in the Age of Napoleon</span>, Andrea D. Robilant</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">A Venetian Affair: A True Tale of Forbidden Love in the 18th Century,</span> Andrea D. Robilant</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">The Gift of the Jews: How a Tribe of Desert Nomads Changed the Way Everyone Thinks and Feels,</span> Thomas Cahill</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Restoration London: From Poverty to Pets, from Medicine to Magic, from Slang to Sex, from Wallpaper to Women's Rights,</span> Liza Picard</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">The Seville Communion,</span> Arturo Perez-Oerveto</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">In the Wake of the Plague: The Black Death and the World it Made,</span> Norman Cantor</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">The Lady Elizabeth: A Novel,</span> Alison Weir</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Faith and Treason: The Story of the Gunpowder Plot</span>, Antonia Fraser</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Blue Iris: Poems and Essays,</span> Mary Oliver</li></ol>This year's list is dedicated to some of my favorite fellow bookworms: Aunts Barb and Jo, Emilie, Liz P., Liz H., Roxane S., and Kristine.<br /><br />But most of all, this list is dedicated to my darling sister-in-law Fran, who shares my intense love of books and often subsidizes my Barnes and Noble habit, and to my mom, who instilled in me a love of the power of words and the magic of language, as well as an intense curiosity about the world around me.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span>Barbara Marincelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748046883382959358noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27951855.post-29232937417382558882009-11-07T18:18:00.008-06:002009-11-12T17:56:59.376-06:00the red threadThis is going to be a very short post, just an update on our baby situation.<br /><br />To make a long story short, we are no longer trying to get pregnant. As it turned out, I simply couldn't handle being off of my fibromyalgia medications. My muscle relaxers, Advil, Excedrin, and trazedone (a sleeping medication commonly used to treat fibromyalgia) are all, without question, definitely <span style="font-style: italic;">verboten</span> for anyone trying to get pregnant. And without them, I've wound up in one of the worst fibromyalgia flares in years. I've been in too much pain to function: unable to dress myself, drive the car, cook, get myself to class, type on the computer. So, after talking it over with my husband and my physician, the three of us made the decision that, for me, pregnancy is simply not an option. (If anyone has any doubts about whether or not fibromyalgia is a real, debilitating chronic pain syndrome, check out the <a href="http://www.mayoclinic.com/">mayo clinic</a> website or <a href="http://www.webmd.com/">web md</a>.)<br /><br />I feel as though I have lost an actual baby, not just the hope of one. I loved this sweet, precious little child, our little red-haired girl; she was planted firmly in my heart and mind, in my very being, and the grief of knowing that she will never come to exist is overwhelming right now.<br /><br />But I know that I will survive this. And George and I KNOW that there is a child out there, waiting for us, waiting to become part of our family. In a funny way, being adopted myself, adoption, rather than pregnancy, seems like a normal way of becoming a family. So that is the plan.<br /><br />I'm going to close with a quote I have propped up against my keyboard as I write; it was sent by a good friend when she and her husband adopted a little honey from China, and I have a feeling it's going to be my mantra for some time to come.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">"An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but will never break."</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">--An ancient Chinese belief</span><br /><br />Please keep us in your prayers, if you are so inclined.Barbara Marincelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748046883382959358noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27951855.post-84898726456530131222009-08-22T20:55:00.006-05:002009-08-22T21:32:42.877-05:00a window opensThere is an old saying that when God closes a door, He opens a window. And every once in a while, it seems to come true...<br /><br />I went in to see my doctor a couple of weeks ago for a medication recheck and, somehow, the conversation drifted to babies. Our Philippines adoption plans fell through earlier this summer--not only are they no longer accepting applications for toddlers, but, according to our adoption counselor, they are about to add medical restrictions. Just about every country we've looked at now refuses to accept parents on anti-depressants. The only country that would possibly accept us is Russia--for a price tag of 30 grand+ and therefore not even within the realm of possibility for us.<br /><br />So I'm crying, sharing all of this with my doctor, when suddenly she said, "Barbara, have you thought about trying to get pregnant again?" (I should explain here that we did try for a few months about two years ago, after consulting with a genetic counselor and a perinatologist. However, at the time--this was before I went to my beloved pain clinic--I was having chronic migraines. Not exactly conducive to babymaking. So we quit and decided adoption would be easier. Little did we know.)<br /><br />According to my doc, all the signs indicate that I'm still fertile (I'll spare everyone the gory details) and, despite my seizure disorder, history of depression, asthma, etc., the risks are manageable. I'd still be considered a high-risk pregnancy and need to be under the care of a perinatologist, but chances are more than good that we'd have a HEALTHY BABY!!!!!<br /><br />IN PRAISE OF FOLIC ACID<br />The biggest risk to the baby is neural tube defects, such as spina bifida. This is thanks to my anti-seizure medications, which change the way the body uses folic acid; however, taking 4 mg of folic acid by prescription drastically lowers the risk. Yes, gals, that's 4 MILLIGRAMS. And it's been proven to work! (Otherwise I would never even consider pregnancy.)<br /><br />So our quest begins. If anyone has any advice for me, PLEASE don't hesitate to share!!! I figure that in a way I'm lucky after all that all of my friends have had babies before me--lots of experienced women out there for support!!<br /><br />And if we can't have a baby this way, then we'll adopt through the MN Waiting Children Program. So come hell or high water, we are going to have a family!Barbara Marincelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748046883382959358noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27951855.post-20368622581404615712009-07-28T18:22:00.001-05:002011-02-25T16:49:32.811-06:00top ten things i learned from my mother<div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">THIS IS FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO KNEW AND LOVED MY MOM:</span></span></span><br /></div><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Top Ten Things I Learned From My Mother<br />(In No Particular Order)</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><ol><li>She always told me that love is the only thing that really matters. You can lose your possessions, your job, and your health, but you can always hold on to the love. And in the final analysis, it's the only thing that makes life worth living.</li><li>Decorate your house with bookcases, because you can never have too many books! Nothing ever seems quite so bad if you can curl up with a good book and a cup of hot cocoa.</li><li>Class is not determined by money or social position; rather, a truly classy person is one who goes out of her way to make others feel comfortable and special. Classy people are warm and gracious.</li><li>You'll never get old if you are always interested in other people and continue to learn new things.</li><li>Life isn't fair. But that doesn't mean it can't still be good, even wonderful, if you retain a sense of gratitude and remember what really matters.</li><li>God does not send us tragedy and pain. But he does give us the strength to bear them, the courage to face them, and the grace to learn and grow from them.</li><li>Listen to your heart and follow your star. You never know where they might lead you!<br /></li><li>Yes, you are your brother's--and your sister's--keeper. Always remember that "whatsoever you do unto the least of them, that you do unto me."</li><li>What others think of you doesn't matter. It's what you think of yourself that counts.</li><li>It takes more muscles to frown than to smile--and holding a grudge takes too much energy.</li></ol><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Plus Two Extra:</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>Never, ever, take the people you love for granted. And never hesitate to say "I love you."</li><li>Tough times don't last. But tough people do.</li></ol><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(NB: This is from the eulogy I gave at my mom's funeral on April 19, 2007)</span><br /></div></div></div>Barbara Marincelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748046883382959358noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27951855.post-83913273543047531912009-02-27T14:18:00.009-06:002011-02-25T16:49:32.813-06:00friday five: the fork in the road<div class="widget Image" id="Image1"> <div class="widget-content">This week's Friday Five come courtesy of Singing Owl from <a href="http://revgalblogpals.blogspot.com/">RevGalBlogPals</a>. She writes:<br /></div> <span class="widget-item-control"> <span class="item-control blog-admin"> <a class="quickedit" href="http://www.blogger.com/rearrange?blogID=14710344&widgetType=Image&widgetId=Image1&action=editWidget" onclick="'return" target="configImage1" title="Edit"> </a> </span> </span> </div> <!-- google_ad_section_start --> <h2 class="date-header">Friday, February 27, 2009</h2> <a name="614678821330074733"></a> <h3 class="post-title entry-title"> <a href="http://revgalblogpals.blogspot.com/2009/02/friday-five-fork-in-road.html">Friday Five: The Fork in the Road</a> </h3> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG17woEOlrgVkCqfCGn_2lQcRxYDpTv1HnNSm_Rc1mJ6LEW7cOep-xZ896Jd1hrVPuVj2zWnT7LFs4WxVyb6wx9TqK1p_y1MqsB9Vikvk1i2mZKqbBoSXaYLuMLC10uhes_SRptA/s1600-h/fork+in+the+road.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG17woEOlrgVkCqfCGn_2lQcRxYDpTv1HnNSm_Rc1mJ6LEW7cOep-xZ896Jd1hrVPuVj2zWnT7LFs4WxVyb6wx9TqK1p_y1MqsB9Vikvk1i2mZKqbBoSXaYLuMLC10uhes_SRptA/s320/fork+in+the+road.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307326344281072082" border="0" /><span class="widget-item-control"> <span class="item-control blog-admin"> </span></span></a><a class="quickedit" href="http://www.blogger.com/rearrange?blogID=14710344&widgetType=Image&widgetId=Image1&action=editWidget" onclick="'return" target="configImage1" title="Edit"> <img alt="" src="http://img1.blogblog.com/img/icon18_wrench_allbkg.png" width="18" height="18" /> </a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />"I am at a life-changing juncture. I do not know which way I will go, but I have been thinking about the times, people and events that changed my life (for good or ill) in significant ways. For today's Friday Five, share with us five "fork-in-the-road" events, or persons, or choices. And how did life change after these forks in the road?"<br /><br />Okay, Singing Owl, here are my five forks in the road:<br /><br />1. I didn't have a lot of say in this one, being five weeks old at the time, but the first big fork in my road came when I was adopted by Millie and Leonard Resch on October 24, 1968. It turned out to be a 38-year-long love story, lasting until my mom's death in 2007. I could not have been more blessed, both by the mom and dad who loved me and raised me, and the mom who loved me so much she was willing to give me up. I love all three of them, my wonderful parents, more than words can express.<br /><br />2. At 19 I was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and clinical depression. This led to years of therapy and, even more important, much painful soul-searching, trying to figure out where God was speaking to me in my suffering. And I found out that not only was he there, he was holding me, lovingly, and feeling my pain as his own.<br /><br />3. At 27 I did a unit of C.P.E. (Clinical Pastoral Education), which is, basically, an intensive chaplaincy internship. It's impossible to sum up in only a few sentences what that summer meant for the rest of my life...suffice it to say, I fell in love with the work, am finally back in grad school (after years of struggling with fibromyalgia), and hope to work as a hospice chaplain once I get my degree.<br /><br />4. When I was 32 I met my husband through mutual friends at the Basilica of St. Mary. Can you say instant lightning? We've been married for five years and he's my rock, the light of my life, and on many days, especially when my depression is bad, the reason I get out of bed. Our marriage tells me a lot about God's love for us--steadfast, constant, always forgiving. We want to adopt so we can share the love with which we've been graced with a special child.<br /><br />5. Two years ago in April my beloved mom died of emphysema. I am still so lonely for her. But in the midst of her dying, she taught me, by example, what it means to have lived a good life, and what it means, for a person of faith, to go to meet her Creator. (Check out "top ten things I learned from my mother" under "select posts" near the top of the right-hand sidebar.)<br /><br />Come on ladies, play along with me! Either on your own blogs, or in the comments box. :)Barbara Marincelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748046883382959358noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27951855.post-86811255846700571072009-02-13T14:48:00.007-06:002011-02-25T16:40:38.013-06:00RevGalBlogPals Friday Five: Pets<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:14;"><h3 class="post-title entry-title" style="margin: 0.25em 0px 0px; padding: 0px 0px 4px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.4em; color: rgb(140, 70, 0);font-size:140%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="http://revgalblogpals.blogspot.com/2009/02/friday-five-pets.html" style="display: block; text-decoration: none; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span">Friday Five: Pets</span></a></span></h3><div class="post-body entry-content" style="margin: 0px 0px 0.75em; line-height: 1.6em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">(<span style="font-size:85%;">Per Sophia over at </span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="http://revgalblogpals.blogspot.com/2009/02/friday-five-pets.html"><span class="Apple-style-span">RevGalBlogPals</span></a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">...) My son's tiny beloved lizard, Elf, is looking and acting strange this week. His skin/scales are quite dark, and he is lethargic. We are adding vitamin drops to his lettuce and spinach and hoping and praying that he is just getting ready to shed his skin--but it's too soon to tell. Others in the ring have also been worried about beloved pets this week. And, in the saddest news of all, </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="http://revsongbird.typepad.com/songbird_365/2009/02/molly.html" style="text-decoration: none; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(70, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span">Songbird has had to bid farewell to her precious Molly</span></a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">,<span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);"> the amazing dog who is well known to readers of her blog as a constant sacrament of God's unconditional love.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);">So in memory of Molly, and in honor of all the beloved animal companions who bless our lives: tell us about the five most memorable pets you have known.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);">Come play along with me--either post your answers on you blog or, better yet, in the comment box! (Sorry to post this a day late--I fell asleep too early last night to finish.)</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">Barbara's Memorable Pets:</span><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" class="Apple-style-span" ><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">1. When I was about six, I adopted an earthworm from my dad's garden and named him Casey, after the boy at school I had a wild crush on. I loved Casey (both of them, actually.) One hot summer day, I devised a raft for Casey (the worm) on a small piece of torn-up shingle, and took him for a boat ride in a mud puddle in our driveway. My parents, watching from the window, decided it was about time for me to have a real pet, and that's how Bridget came into our lives.</span></span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:medium;" class="Apple-style-span" ><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> The Casey story does not have a happy ending, though: Casey the boy moved away, and Casey the worm received a ceremonial burial in the rose garden.</span></span><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" class="Apple-style-span" ><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">2. We got Bridget, a miniature poodle (almost big enough to be a standard) through a group called Pet Haven, almost immediately after the Casey incident. She was, truly, my best friend for all of my growing up years; talk about representing God's unconditional love. We took her everywhere with us. She was also brilliant--my dad loved teaching her tricks. One of his (their, I</span> <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">should say) favorites was teaching her to scratch fleas on command. She didn't have fleas, you understand. I thought about trying to get her on David Letterman's Stupid Pet Tricks, but never</span> <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">got around to it. When I came home from my scoliosis surgery, in terrible pain I went to bed immediately, and Bridget hopped up on the bed and very carefully and gently arranged herself so that she was nestled against me, head on my shoulder, magically, without hitting any of my painful spots (and there were plenty, believe me.) We had to put our beloved Bridget to sleep right after I graduated from college; she was 15-years-old.</span></span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" class="Apple-style-span" ><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">3. About a year later we (mom and I) found my darling Molly, a cocker spaniel, at the Golden Valley Humane Society. I knew from the second I laid eyes on her that she was the puppy for us. She was picked up as a stray, and had apparently been abused</span>. <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Molly had the absolute sweetest nature I have ever seen in a dog, and in a special way, we were soulmates. She could always tell when I was depressed, or my fibromyalgia was acting up, and she was always right there to comfort me. She also had a thing for flowers--we were always catching her out in the backyard</span> <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">sniffing them. When we had to put her to sleep, at the age of 14, (she had an abdominal cancer), we spread her ashes amongst the flowers she loved so much</span>. <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">I love to think of her resting there, helping the flowers grow.</span></span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" class="Apple-style-span" ><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">4. </span></span><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Warning: Do not let young children read this fish horror story</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">. In my late twenties I decided I need some fish to help keep me company</span>. <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">So I trotted off the the pet store, purchased my little tank and fish goodies, and then selected my fish. I don't remember the name of the breed (Bellas, maybe?), but they were stunningly beautiful, and the store owner assured me they were a very passive breed of fish, and not likely to harm each other. (Does anyone sense some foreshadowing here?) I enjoyed watching them swim about in their tiny tank, weaving in</span> <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">and out of the fronds of the plants I had so carefully purchased for their swimming pleasure. But soon, I began to notice that a few of my fish seemed to have disappeared. Then, one traumatic day, I caught the fish villain in the act: he was devouring another fish. The story only gets worse from here. A fish execution by toilet, remaining fish obviously suffering from PTSD. I'm not sure</span> <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">what this was supposed to teach me. That fish can be possessed? That the reality of evil extends even to little aquariums?</span></span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" class="Apple-style-span" ><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">5. Luckily, my last pet story reaffirms my belief in the goodness of creation. My darling Fiona, the Uber-cocker spaniel, curled up against my bare feet as I type, is my best furry friend and provides me with all the loving, unconditional care anyone could possibly need. When my mom</span> <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">was dying, and I'd come home from the nursing home in tears, Fiona was right there waiting for me. And after mom died, for weeks the little fluffy creature wouldn't leave my side; she clung to me, staring up at me with her big brown eyes that telegraphed her doggly love and concern</span>. <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Fiona also loves to play; every single day, without fail, we must--and I do mean must--play with each of her toys in turn. She so loves her toys. She is my cuddly darling, and I</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> hope</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> to someday be the person she thinks I am.</span></span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" class="Apple-style-span" ><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> </span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></span></span></div></span>Barbara Marincelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748046883382959358noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27951855.post-62012998049488008652009-02-12T17:23:00.005-06:002009-02-14T17:57:02.619-06:00check out my new widget!For all of my friends, bloggy or otherwise, I would like to draw your attention to my new and exciting widget, near the bottom of the right-hand sidebar. It's a nifty little tool that indicates to the world that people actually read my blog. So if you occasionally stop by, or faithfully read each new post, or just come by to check it out and like what you see, I invite--no, I plead with-- you to sign up as a "Follower." Let me emphasize: it costs nothing. no obligation. You are not forced to read this darn thing at anytime. But you'll definitely be contributing to raising my self-esteem, and making my blog look more enticing. So just think of all the good you'll be contributing to the cause!Barbara Marincelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748046883382959358noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27951855.post-75784176166215503462009-02-12T16:25:00.005-06:002012-12-18T21:31:31.080-06:00on second chancesI found out last week that I have been accepted into the Master's of Theology Program at St. Kate's! Talk about a boost! I was so terrified--convinced, actually--that I'd be rejected that getting that phone call (the director of the program notified me by phone) felt like I'd suddenly come out into light after walking in darkness for eons. For so many years it's seemed as though I've been dealing with nothing but fibromyalgia, migraines, depression, PTSD, losing my mom...it feels as though this is my reward. My second chance at life. Hopefully, the beginning of a lifetime of using what I've learned from my own personal tragedies, as it were, to help people who are hurting and in need of someone to be a loving, listening presence.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">N.B. This is partially lifted from my application essay:</span><br />
<br />
People often look at me strangely when I tell them I hope to work as a chaplain. They ask if it isn't depressing, if I couldn't make more money in another business [author's reply: YES I COULD MAKE TONS MORE MONEY ELSEWHERE], why I don't just volunteer at a hospital once a week, if what I want to do is work with sick people. But for me, it feels like a call, as though it's exactly the place God wants me to be, the thing that is most true to who I am as a person. What I remember most about my experiences as a chaplain intern is the sense of total honor,to be allowed to companion people during the most sacred, awe-inspiring moments of their lives--including, yes, the moment of their death.<br />
<br />
For years, ever since I was first diagnosed with PTSD, I've longed, desperately, to somehow find meaning in my suffering by someday using my brokenness to help heal the pain of others. And when I began my first C.P.E. (Clinical Pastoral Education, basically a chaplain internship) at St. Joseph's Hospital, working with cancer patients, and the following summer at the VA Medical Center working with WWII combat vets still carrying the emotional ravages of all they had seen decades ago, I discovered that I had a certain authenticity. Because I'd been there, too. Maybe I hadn't had cancer, but I was familiar, through personal experience, with psychic and physical pain, and many of the spiritual questions that inevitably arise from it. I found that mixed in with the sorrow, and my frequent feeling of incompetence and awkwardness, were moments of true connection, of utter holiness. The "thin places," as my Irish ancestors would say: the mystical moments when earth and heaven meet.<br />
<br />
Over ten years ago, after my summer at St. Joseph's, I wrote a short piece for <span style="font-style: italic;">The Catholic Spirit</span> in answer to their question "Who is my neighbor?"; more than anything else I've written here I feel this brief narrative explains why I've chosen the ministry I have. And it also shows that in this ministry, so far, I've gained far more than I've given.<br />
<br />
<blockquote style="font-style: italic;">
Dwarfed by the hospital bed, surrounded by IVs and beeping monitors, she was a tiny, frail elderly woman with enormous haunted dark eyes dominating a white face. A native of Poland, she spoke little English, but was nonetheless able to understand the diagnosis: inoperable stomach cancer. Six months, maybe less, to live.<br />
<br />
I was a chaplain intern with a grand total of three weeks experience, observing my first hospice consult. What could I, a 27-year-old graduate student, possibly say to a lonely frightened dying woman who didn't even speak English?<br />
<br />
As I stood huddled in a corner of the room and watched, a tear formed in one of those dark eyes and slid slowly down her face. Then another. And another. Her fragile body began to shake; and suddenly I found myself far from the safety of my hidden corner, my inexperience forgotten, my arms around her and my face buried against her shoulder, I dug out my little blue plastic rosary, and as we wept and prayed together, the healing love of Christ transcended the gulf between us, overcoming the barriers of language and age, binding us together as fellow pilgrims walking hand in hand on our journey home.</blockquote>
Note: I should explain here, for those who don't know me well, that I was in the M.Div program at the Saint Paul Seminary School of Divinity for about three years in my mid-twenties. I dropped out in 1997 when my fibromyalgia, depression, and PTSD made it too difficult to function, much less handle grad school. It's been my dream, ever since, to return to school, get my degree, and become a chaplain (hospital or hospice). Incidentally, none of my classes/credits transfer to St. Kate's, because it's been over ten years since I did my coursework. This is fine with me, actually, since my memory of those days is hazy, to say the least. It feels great to start afresh!Barbara Marincelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748046883382959358noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27951855.post-13719870828335432692009-01-30T18:24:00.001-06:002012-12-18T22:31:29.871-06:0025 random things about me(I originally posted this on Facebook, but I wanted something semi-fun to post here today, so I thought I'd use this.)<br />
1.I never liked poetry when I studied it in English class, but now I love reading it on my own. In fact, I'm becoming a poetry addict.<br />
2. I closed my mom's eyes after she died. For some reason, this was--and still is--very important to me.<br />
3. I was the last person in my class to learn to read, and 10 years later aced the PSAT verbal section. Perseverance does pay off!<br />
4. I procrastinate terribly--not because I'm lazy, but because I'm afraid I'll screw everything up. Talk about self-fulfilling prophecies!<br />
5. I think it is a disgrace that Pope John XXIII has not yet been canonized.<br />
6. I took French in high school and college, and Spanish in college, and remember absolutely nothing of either. <i>(edit 2012--I'm doing Rosetta Stone to try and relearn it all!)</i><br />
7. When I was very little, I wanted to be both an astronaut and a ballerina. Simultaneously.<br />
8. Yes, I really am a redhead. I'm partly Irish, after all.<br />
9. I was engaged (to a millionaire's son, yet) before I met George and called it off when I realized I'd rather be alone by myself than alone with somebody else. Oh, am I ever glad I waited!<br />
10. I've always wanted to be a writer, in addition to whatever else I do with my life.<br />
11.I began a search for my birth mother last year. I haven't heard anything yet.<i> (edit 2012--She is found, and we are very close!)</i><br />
12. I feel a little disloyal to my mom for doing this, even though she always supported the idea and even offered to pay for it.<br />
13. I make a mean homemade marinara sauce, with lots of onion and garlic.<br />
14.I used to do lots of drawing with charcoal and pastels; I'd like to start doing it again, but for some reason I'm scared to. (Maybe I'm afraid I'll, well, suck.)<br />
15.If I could do college over again, I'd major in history or English and philosophy, instead of political science and philosophy. And I'd take four years of Latin, for fun. Yes, fun. <i>(edit 2012--or maybe I'd just do four years of both French and Spanish!)</i><br />
16. Sometimes I feel as though I am strangely invisible.<br />
17. I never minded being an only child, until both of my parents were gone.<br />
18. I played varsity tennis in high school, and was also in choir and yearbook.<br />
19. I feel very connected to both of my grandmothers, although my maternal grandma died long before I was born, and my paternal grandma died when I was 16--almost 25 years ago.<br />
20. I have ultra-sensitive skin that requires more pampering than a baby's. Hair, too.<br />
21. The only thing that REALLY makes my back feel better is massage and gentle yoga. And certain muscle relaxers, of course.<br />
22. I would love to do freelance writing but have no idea how to begin.<br />
23. One of the very best days of my life was the day I discovered that dark chocolate actually contains more antioxidants than green tea.<br />
24.My biggest regret (aside from infertility) is that I was supposed to spend a college semester studying in London, which fell through when we couldn't come up with the extra cash, and then later I was supposed to spend a whole week over New Year's Eve staying in a friend's flat in Paris, only to wind up in the ER the night before my flight with a bad case of influenza.<br />
25. When I was 30 I had surgery to correct a crooked jaw--my scoliosis made the lower part of my face grow unevenly.<i>(edit 2012--I actually had three surgeries to correct the kyphosis and scoliosis in my back when I was 17 and a senior in high school.)</i>Barbara Marincelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748046883382959358noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27951855.post-83638630624788900352009-01-29T16:28:00.005-06:002010-01-02T23:35:22.454-06:00fully humanI realize now, finally, that the pain I've endured will always be an <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">indelible</span> part of me. But recovery and healing aren't necessarily about erasing pain; I think it's more about using our time in the darkness to become fully human. St. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Iraneus</span> of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Lyons</span> wrote, famously, that "[t]he greatest glory of God is a human being fully alive," meaning, I suspect, that we become saints by simply becoming more of who we are, even in our brokenness. Perhaps especially in our <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">woundedness</span>. Happiness, I've come to believe, is overrated: joy is the thing to strive for. They are not the same thing.<br /><br />I think I first began to comprehend this when I was raped at the age of 32. The grief, the overwhelming <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">sense</span> of shame, of self-hatred and disgust, threatened to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">drown</span> me. It was like living the first weeks after my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">PTSD</span> diagnosis (and the childhood rape that originally caused it) all over again. But, along with the love and support of my family, friends, and the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Basilica</span> community, one thing saved me.<br /><br />I'm the last one to discount the value of my many years of therapy, and the excellent medical care I've received--which I have no doubt saved my life--but I wonder. Without my experience of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Christ's</span> healing love, would any--or much, anyway--of my treatment been successful? one of the most <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">enduring</span> legacies of sexual abuse and/or rape is a pervasive, all-encompassing sense of shame. And of course I know, intellectually, that the ways in which I was violated were not my responsibility. But what is slowly <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">changing</span> that perception of myself in my heart is the realization that I am, just as we all are, the <span style="font-style: italic;">imago </span><span style="font-style: italic;" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">dei</span>: made in the image and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">likeness</span> of God. At last, I am able to (sometimes) accept that my violation was God's violation, too, and that He wept with me in my sorrow and grief.<br /><br />I often think of the Scripture story of the woman with the hemorrhage. Because of her constant flow of blood, her society considered her unclean--just as I often feel unclean. Think of the shame she must have felt. Yet she summoned the courage to touch the hem of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Jesus</span>' cloak, and by her faith, she was healed, healed in the most profound way possible, and her shame was no more. It was her trust, her utter, complete surrender to her love for Jesus, and His love for her, which made her free.<br /><br />Just as I hope that someday I, too, will be made free.Barbara Marincelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748046883382959358noreply@blogger.com2