tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17818130836766241762024-03-05T05:36:41.961-06:00Morrison Lanejessica dukeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15342672963520507496noreply@blogger.comBlogger993125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1781813083676624176.post-84203403204458536602016-09-10T14:53:00.001-05:002016-09-10T14:53:39.993-05:00The Face of Sadness/The Face of Love<div> <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8"> <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css"> <title></title> <meta name="Generator" content="Cocoa HTML Writer"> <style type="text/css"> p.p1 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 17.0px '.SF UI Text'; color: #454545} p.p2 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 17.0px '.SF UI Text'; color: #454545; min-height: 20.3px} span.s1 {font-family: '.SFUIText-Regular'; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; font-size: 17.00pt} span.s2 {font-family: '.SFUIText-Regular'; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; font-size: 17.00pt; color: #e4af0a} </style> <p class="p1"><span class="s1">As a nanny, I am surrounded in the world of mothers. Most of us are the same age, I know what they drive, whose kids belong to who, what their husbands do for a living, what kind of workout clothes they prefer, the list goes on.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p> <p class="p1"><span class="s1">I have more "moms" numbers in my phones current texts on any given day than I do friends.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p> <p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><br></p> <p class="p1"><span class="s1">I know much about their lives. I am as close to a family member without being a family member.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p> <p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><br></p> <p class="p1"><span class="s1">When something good happens I know, when something tragic happens, I know. I'm that invisible person that smooths things out and helps make days easier.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p> <p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><br></p> <p class="p1"><span class="s1">A few weeks ago, one of those moms was hit with the tragedy of a lifetime when her 13 year old son died a sudden accidental death. Shockwaves were felt around the small community where I find myself a nanny.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p> <p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><br></p> <p class="p1"><span class="s1">Today, I saw her. The face of sadness.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p> <p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><br></p> <p class="p1"><span class="s1">I was just going about my day.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p> <p class="p1"><span class="s1">Sweating.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p> <p class="p1"><span class="s1">Wishing the football game that I had my little charge at would end because it was H O T.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p> <p class="p1"><span class="s1">Thinking about meeting Brad later for lunch, preoccupied with me.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p> <p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><br></p> <p class="p1"><span class="s1">Then she walked in. The parents were all chatting amongst themselves, and in walked in sadness.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p> <p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><br></p> <p class="p1"><span class="s1">Two weeks previous her son had died.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>For two weeks she has mourned the thirteen year old that will never go to high school, get in a little trouble, make good decisions, date, marry.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p> <p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><br></p> <p class="p1"><span class="s1">He's gone.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p> <p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><br></p> <p class="p1"><span class="s1">I hadn't seen her since he had passed away. And when she walked in she was weak and frail and sad. When you think of sadness, she wore that face.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p> <p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><br></p> <p class="p1"><span class="s1">Sometimes "hey how are you" isn't enough. It's not a polite thing to say. It's not the right thing to say.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p> <p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><br></p> <p class="p1"><span class="s1">A pat on the back and a nod maybe. Just I see you. You are not invisible to me. I can not imagine what you are going through but I know you are in the depths of it. I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. Sometimes you can say all that with your eyes. Today I tried to do that.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p> <p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><br></p> <p class="p1"><span class="s1">Soon, after watching her other son play football, she had to go and be in the shade. It was an abnormally hot day.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p> <p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><br></p> <p class="p1"><span class="s1">She got up, her husband had his arm tightly on her arm. And her mom flanked her other side. It was like they were her body guards protecting and shielding her from life, wind, everything.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p> <p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><br></p> <p class="p1"><span class="s1">But as they walked away to find that shade I thought "they're going to be okay..."<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p> <p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><br></p> <p class="p1"><span class="s1">She's going to be okay. I can't imagine what it feels like to lose a child. A child you carried in your body. A child you had hope for the future to see grow up and old.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p> <p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><br></p> <p class="p1"><span class="s1">She came to a football game today in 90 degree weather because her 11 year old son who now won't have a living brother to love needed her living life there to watch him succeed.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p> <p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><br></p> <p class="p1"><span class="s1">And it was a <a href="x-apple-data-detectors://embedded-result/2605"><span class="s2">Saturday morning</span></a>. It was early. Every reason for her to stay in bed.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p> <p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><br></p> <p class="p1"><span class="s1">But she got up. She arose. She did it.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p> <p class="p2"><span class="s1"></span><br></p> <p class="p1"><span class="s1">That's the face of bravery.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p> <p class="p1"><span class="s1">That's a mother.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p> <p class="p1"><span class="s1">That's the face of love.</span></p><p class="p1"><br></p> </div><div><br></div><div><br><br>Sent from my iPhone</div>jessica dukeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15342672963520507496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1781813083676624176.post-38107228858350068542015-03-14T20:08:00.001-05:002015-03-14T20:08:28.904-05:00Hope. Just yesterday I was eating my morning breakfast in my haze of just waking up before the coffee, sitting at the table drinking my normal 20 ounces of water with my boiled eggs, I noticed my glass was broken.
<br>
<br>My glass that I was drinking out of had three cracks along the rim formed into a triangle. Obviously, not enough to cause a leak or even notice unless you were looking. Because the break was facing me, I noticed.
<br>
<br>And thought.
<br>
<br>That's me right now. Infertility makes you feel broken. But daily, you try your best to keep those little broken pieces together because if you let go of one tiny little sliver of brokenness even for a second you will shatter.
<br>
<br>Also, there's hope. Even though my drinking glass was [and still is broken], it was working just fine. It was holding my water perfectly, it still looked pretty enough to even serve a friend BUT it was still broken.
<br>
<br>And just like the glass filled with water is broken, being filled with hope while broken is such a growing experience. One that I wish I wasn't a participant in, but I am.
<br>
<br>So today, I'm broken but filled with hope. And I'm going to keep filling my cup with hope and remember that just because there's a break in the glass doesn't mean I still can't be used.
<br>
<br>And tomorrow when I drink my 20 ounces I think I'll make sure it's from that glass. Hope.jessica dukeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15342672963520507496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1781813083676624176.post-11025487365254031562015-03-12T09:16:00.001-05:002015-03-12T09:16:42.647-05:00Infertility Feels...Infertility feels like the dread of a bad break up. The one where you've been in the relationship a long time but suddenly you know it's over and you have to end it. The months and weeks before hand, before the actual split, the dread that comes with the long seconds, minutes, hours and days. The "try and not think about it" that comes from your best friends and the "one day you're gonna smile again, etc" that everyone says to you that knows it's coming.
<br>
<br>Except.
<br>
<br>Shut up.
<br>
<br>You still wake up the next day with that dread and I-just-have-to-make-it-through-this-day mentality even if you only think about it for an hour collective the entire day, it's still there.
<br>
<br>That "thing." That "thing," that "feeling" just sits and chews at your heart and gnaws at your throat. And never goes away.
<br>
<br>Infertility.
<br>
<br>And "in the waiting" and not knowing if you'll ever be a mom. Am I with the right Reproductive Endocrinologist? Is He the one that is going to get me pregnant? Are the cards in my favor finally? But living with this day after day and getting older day after day and years of medicine that makes you feel bad, and the wonder of is it even worth it...
<br>
<br>And once you actually get the courage to break up and do it - months and years down the road, it'll just be part of your story and you'll most likely be glad it ended because everything is now finally how it should be.
<br>
<br>And the years and trials of infertility. Once they lay that bloody crying little seven pound of perfect heaven on your naked chest in your trance of "did I just do this?" and when you look over at your husband with tears in his eyes and he nods that you did. All that pain, all that hurt, all those days, months and years of dread becomes just part of your story because in the end you wouldn't have it any other way, and life is finally how it should be.
<br>
<br>
<br>jessica dukes
<br>[photography]
<br>-jessicadukes.com-jessica dukeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15342672963520507496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1781813083676624176.post-5492309841388284862014-08-12T10:00:00.000-05:002014-08-12T10:00:26.355-05:00on being kind.I wish this story was about me. Unfortunately, It is not.<br />
<br />
Long before Brad, Peggy and instagramming in-between there were Monday nights. Monday nights were a night where myself and my two best friends/roommates would open our home to anyone and everyone that wanted to come over, literally. Often times the street was so full of cars, the yard would become the parking lot. We always had chocolate cookies and Chili's chips and salsa. I cooked a home-cooked meal for everyone (I had in my head that all these male musician friends we had were hungry...) It started as something small and when it ended we would sometimes have upwards of 50 people some Monday nights. Some nights, we were gathered around watching The Bachelor with groups paired off in the kitchen and then some nights we just talked, hung out, fellowshipped.<br />
<br />
Everyone that came was different, but similar. All about the same age, demographic, etc. Just a group of college something, young professionals getting together to start off the week with friends.<br />
<br />
There was one guy that was different though. He was older than we were, often he didn't smell very good and he never said much. He was very different. But somehow in this group, he found something that kept him coming back Monday after Monday. I'm in the school of thought <i>"be kind, we are all going through something hard..."</i> but when I would see him walking up to the door I would shrug my shoulders and honestly wish he hadn't come. Maybe he was a little "creepy?" <b>I am confident I was just judging him.</b><br />
<br />
<i>Week after week, he came back.</i> I never really noticed anyone really conversing with him ever. He was just there. Sure, we were all nice to him, but on my end it was more of a tolerated him than anything.<br />
<br />
One of the guys that came on Monday nights was cooler than most of us, though (at least in my opinion). He was a song writer and musician, and just a cool guy. Maybe he was a little different too.<br />
<br />
One night this "group" was hanging out at someone elses house, it was pretty much the same group of people that were around on Monday nights and he was there. Laid back on the couch, arm over the back of the sofa. He smelt bad and seemed sad like usual. <i>I chose to just ignore him. </i><br />
<br />
Then I watched as this cool guy mentioned above walked over and sat right beside him and patted him on the leg like he was an old friend and started up a conversation. The wealth of information that I heard about Star Wars and movies, you would have never believed. He engaged with him, talked to him and was interested in him. Interested in what he said. Truly. He listened and hung on to every word he said.<br />
<br />
I remember that it was even time for him to leave and his cool posse called his name and said, <i>"Hey, its time to go!"</i> and he replied without missing a beat <i>"Hold on, I'm talking to _____." </i>And continued on with their conversation until it was genuinely over.<br />
<br />
I watched in awe. A true true kindness was displayed right before my eyes. Finally, when ______ got up to leave, and said, "It was great talking to you ______." He shrugged and kind of smiled and as _____ walked away and _____ threw his arm back on the back of the couch again, he relaxed back into his seat from their riveting conversation - he looked full and happy. <br />
<br />
And in that moment, I thought to myself and later told him, <i>"You know, I think you may have saved _____ life tonight just by being kind to him and truly being interested in what he had to say."</i><br />
<br />
I think about this often, but especially something tragic happens like suicide and wonder how it could have been prevented. <br />
<br />
Let us be kind to one another and love each other a little better and truly listen and be interested in what people have to say. Give them time. You could save someones life.jessica dukeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15342672963520507496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1781813083676624176.post-17502289040944816192014-07-29T07:04:00.001-05:002014-07-29T07:04:11.671-05:00A case of the Mondays.Yesterday was the definition of why Mondays are deemed Mondays. <br />
<br />
It is a new day. And I just sent some pictures (including these three photographs) to their sweet Mama, and Tuesday is already looking better. I mean, how can you have a bad day looking at these sweet faces?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYmpj2znNSlEUacDEIj31JzuNpVwGBSHsTtecj_orru1zBUN7XxmtWFoZlCo13VM0YZ4WTITD9A3th3XAYak-awQHfg-50Hk2mRFFqW2e-Jqt0U6u0jenLFHkT-7BTKlrTEwp-qrJBImA/s1600/DSC_0084.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYmpj2znNSlEUacDEIj31JzuNpVwGBSHsTtecj_orru1zBUN7XxmtWFoZlCo13VM0YZ4WTITD9A3th3XAYak-awQHfg-50Hk2mRFFqW2e-Jqt0U6u0jenLFHkT-7BTKlrTEwp-qrJBImA/s1600/DSC_0084.jpg" height="424" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixbwb_boc1wFUe9zZBRwFFFllX8uO9jg6wNzEVGBS2S1EoR5pGevVLfT9a8HsJu3e10IHzcunywKfrBElzetYW0XcbeOhFjdn16czw9ogfjljo6V_uaWzAnrD5PCJCe9TAIDvXaZR_MFU/s1600/DSC_0116.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixbwb_boc1wFUe9zZBRwFFFllX8uO9jg6wNzEVGBS2S1EoR5pGevVLfT9a8HsJu3e10IHzcunywKfrBElzetYW0XcbeOhFjdn16czw9ogfjljo6V_uaWzAnrD5PCJCe9TAIDvXaZR_MFU/s1600/DSC_0116.jpg" height="424" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL7dj4yefrV2VHQ0Aq6VkBisGcdkwbsofVmqlwCyzCl8Q89Vb-TU3dWhyphenhyphenpfUadfhpSbrNi-SBL9Yn3x5ou7FX1Fv87MBQtuZ5P8AIDtLwhvT26bOGPogzdtoCNpGLnw0CFlPAhSxQRt2k/s1600/DSC_0228.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL7dj4yefrV2VHQ0Aq6VkBisGcdkwbsofVmqlwCyzCl8Q89Vb-TU3dWhyphenhyphenpfUadfhpSbrNi-SBL9Yn3x5ou7FX1Fv87MBQtuZ5P8AIDtLwhvT26bOGPogzdtoCNpGLnw0CFlPAhSxQRt2k/s1600/DSC_0228.jpg" height="640" width="424" /></a></div>
Let's make a deal Tuesday. I'll be good to you and you be good to me.<br />
Deal?<br />
Deal.jessica dukeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15342672963520507496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1781813083676624176.post-80390883048551733812014-05-22T20:39:00.001-05:002014-05-22T20:39:30.066-05:00Fixer.My dad was a humble man.
<br>
<br>A man of little words.
<br>
<br>When he spoke, you wanted to listen. IF he was ever funny, he was really funny.
<br>
<br>He was a mechanic most all of his life. No scholar by the books standards, but he could build anything and repair whatever was broken.
<br>
<br>Except his body.
<br>
<br>But because his body was broken, he made the choice to give his body to science to, even in his death, fix other bodies riddled with Parkinson's Disease.
<br>
<br>Today, mom got his ashes. Which made me so sad and so proud of him. He was a good man, a kind man, a fixer.
<br>
<br>I'd like to think his last act of himself was his finest.
<br>
<br>I'm proud to be his daughter.
<br>
<br>XO
<br>
<br>
<br>jessica dukes
<br>[photography]
<br>-jessicadukes.com-jessica dukeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15342672963520507496noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1781813083676624176.post-20793345879759583242014-04-02T08:08:00.000-05:002014-04-02T08:08:24.529-05:00I'm so happy to be stuck with you. || three.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhDziBECKAaxGHPpjQCVZ69CjJzAy1iKEE06I9M9pZhv5I8FoSa-bgTN0B5U8Hdvo4HmIn_HigDFOc3p97Cu5Cd8F8PxYaAezvMMcFklWOyVUMjRBc-k7NJq5HBsVZXv3kCumRLSq06Lg/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhDziBECKAaxGHPpjQCVZ69CjJzAy1iKEE06I9M9pZhv5I8FoSa-bgTN0B5U8Hdvo4HmIn_HigDFOc3p97Cu5Cd8F8PxYaAezvMMcFklWOyVUMjRBc-k7NJq5HBsVZXv3kCumRLSq06Lg/s1600/photo.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
Yes, it's true. I'm so happy to be stuck with you. <br />
<br />
I heard that song on the radio the other day and thought about you. <br />
<br />
Happy to be stuck with you.<br />
Happy to get to do this life with you.<br />
<br />
Every day I'm thankful for you. I tell you that a lot, but I hope you know it's true and feel my love for you grow stronger every day. We are a good team. <br />
<br />
SO here's to 1,095 days of marital bliss TOGETHER add a Peggy in the mix and it's one good life.<br />
<br />
Yes, it's true. I'm so happy to be stuck with you.<br />
<br />
<br />jessica dukeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15342672963520507496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1781813083676624176.post-49152505788234306692014-04-01T09:24:00.000-05:002014-04-01T09:24:31.501-05:00Awkward Family PhotosIt's only April and I have learned a ton this year.<br />
<br />
One thing I have learned is there is no such thing as a bad picture. <br />
<br />
I took some pictures at Thanksgiving of our entire family, at moms prodding. They were terrible deemed by me, and probably to anyone else. But since dad's death, I decided to revisit those things and actually found some gems. All of them.<br />
<br />
And even though we are misplaced, I look like I am married to my nephew Seth in most of the pictures, my nephew Bens eye only is showing, we look kinda like the Herdman family, I am sweating because I have a heavy sweater on AND because I was back and forth between the <i>10 second and go</i> timer while the camera sat on a rickety table with 15 books under it...until my sister-in-law's sister took over...you get it. Bad photos.<br />
<br />
But then when you know you can never get this picture back again, it becomes golden.<br />
<br />
join me for comedy hour.<br />
<br />
ready?<br />
<br />
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Nice socks mom while striking your model pose. Lookin' good gurl.</div>
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Dad - I'm here, but I don't wanna be.</div>
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He always was the favorite child. That's by brother, Trampas. And look, we are centered. It's a GO. <i>Everyone, timers on! Hurry!!!</i></div>
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You can't make this stuff up, y'all. </div>
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Brad's taken over the model pose. Seth (red sweater) is like <i>"dude, how you do that? like, this?"</i> Ethan (random arm) who is hiding behind my brother (purple) clearly is about to put earrings on his mom. Atticus (baby) says, <i>"How did I end up in this family?"</i></div>
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Mom and Dad are like <i>"ALL OF YOU! Out of our picture!"</i></div>
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and then, obviously, I need to work on my sprint. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0VzK_nnVf7MlWMRMlpF_EwymHoH3zUPS5oZaxCNUscGKHc_15CRfpH-dnzeNE6JuPWPFb13lnyNNvTZmXxCEjeOJiprSgxJvuH8URqUyCGfyNtnOe6vUhz_iPbiT-z_cCqF4JkUN_WNE/s1600/DSC_0073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0VzK_nnVf7MlWMRMlpF_EwymHoH3zUPS5oZaxCNUscGKHc_15CRfpH-dnzeNE6JuPWPFb13lnyNNvTZmXxCEjeOJiprSgxJvuH8URqUyCGfyNtnOe6vUhz_iPbiT-z_cCqF4JkUN_WNE/s1600/DSC_0073.JPG" height="424" width="640" /></a></div>
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Mom and Dad have settled into their family. <i> "Oh look, Roy, we might as well smile, they ain't going anywhere." </i>Everyone and GO. <i><b>Jessica? Jessica? Jess....</b></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZF-jK3oMkppGvFGAUzo4z5G8T3Q9wDcpgDcOGPqmQgSKpRY0K1IxhJvYWcdkI3wdArw0Z0wZSS9ejcujMfL0DZ0teS1LBf1_YLTEbtlMyHQAUCAa3zkXQ3Sls6mNNuXsDxmHF_L4mR-c/s1600/DSC_0074.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZF-jK3oMkppGvFGAUzo4z5G8T3Q9wDcpgDcOGPqmQgSKpRY0K1IxhJvYWcdkI3wdArw0Z0wZSS9ejcujMfL0DZ0teS1LBf1_YLTEbtlMyHQAUCAa3zkXQ3Sls6mNNuXsDxmHF_L4mR-c/s1600/DSC_0074.JPG" height="424" width="640" /></a></div>
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Something is really funny. Let's be honest, they're just laughing from cheering for me because I made it in the picture. <i>Go me. </i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi19stWcZPOwAjZU-uZwK6xPvMDla9KQfZSf8EgIXfOS2z4hMw7zhHB5V6kq8hhRFpLkcibus2cKYjJKkTTMkA2hcs3hpmQZcrfrktmPRynloDRSJV9nxFPjwHxk1oRoPBA1qnnfV09Sl4/s1600/DSC_0080.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi19stWcZPOwAjZU-uZwK6xPvMDla9KQfZSf8EgIXfOS2z4hMw7zhHB5V6kq8hhRFpLkcibus2cKYjJKkTTMkA2hcs3hpmQZcrfrktmPRynloDRSJV9nxFPjwHxk1oRoPBA1qnnfV09Sl4/s1600/DSC_0080.JPG" height="424" width="640" /></a></div>
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Atticus is getting an ear infection from all the chatter. And look, everyone is smiling and accounted for. The picture is crooked but faces, faces are accounted for. BOOM.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhetaNLzjCGZ8Udrgd2ECtMEsD5Tpn8w47APqBXUHJRlrcTIvfjZHBYxka0Hc7M_g-p0WQaugVFNDpvxM7cKbquvHa9EW8MG79BkVOgvzcnxUvEf5Q1xhKx1I6a7ibKOPPifOsdc7g6lTI/s1600/DSC_0103.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhetaNLzjCGZ8Udrgd2ECtMEsD5Tpn8w47APqBXUHJRlrcTIvfjZHBYxka0Hc7M_g-p0WQaugVFNDpvxM7cKbquvHa9EW8MG79BkVOgvzcnxUvEf5Q1xhKx1I6a7ibKOPPifOsdc7g6lTI/s1600/DSC_0103.jpg" height="440" width="640" /></a></div>
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And then when you make it black and white and remember, we are all there, together. </div>
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<i>It's okay that I look like I am married to Seth. </i></div>
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<i>It's okay that Bens eye is only showing.</i></div>
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<i>We are happy and we are together.</i> And this would be the last picture we ever took together. </div>
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So, it's the best picture. </div>
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And because he's cute, here's a closer look at my great nephew Atticus. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH831WHKAKhd3VOsRed758zBr9bYF-Qq6n6hiClOiZy8xFBFBcd9oC2I7giazUJ4tAvq6_u_JE_M5QUHUkVCjis4JvPkUkOZ8YgC1FfiejhfQh2tKS00THyai7q8fg9zu0EQb7Kx9cCx0/s1600/DSC_0026.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH831WHKAKhd3VOsRed758zBr9bYF-Qq6n6hiClOiZy8xFBFBcd9oC2I7giazUJ4tAvq6_u_JE_M5QUHUkVCjis4JvPkUkOZ8YgC1FfiejhfQh2tKS00THyai7q8fg9zu0EQb7Kx9cCx0/s1600/DSC_0026.jpg" height="254" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSOTJB_CV7-ZR1TjqLENbDO4vK4jYbV18c1hxISUZS33j7JZ1jj3M7l608pt-6KjAc1juiKuyiH7xuDRCM2MKIfbyqrd8fR00uBjQ_HwCgSP3jYGRiLjlmko6dpESRpdEQ7zEjZ6JhEvg/s1600/DSC_0033+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSOTJB_CV7-ZR1TjqLENbDO4vK4jYbV18c1hxISUZS33j7JZ1jj3M7l608pt-6KjAc1juiKuyiH7xuDRCM2MKIfbyqrd8fR00uBjQ_HwCgSP3jYGRiLjlmko6dpESRpdEQ7zEjZ6JhEvg/s1600/DSC_0033+copy.jpg" height="424" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMubpP1Wr3mDNMiqc-nNJ-b-xebZp5VKxGkrTVB0eO49CntkEMO_Pw_8febZ7SrOsOTYHj5_O7Up6TBGWEh1L2Uaa3yY9OsCoLjSWk1T0A7PzfIuXzJweNUg60zXJ6hf0f04mcqq0CiA0/s1600/DSC_0019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMubpP1Wr3mDNMiqc-nNJ-b-xebZp5VKxGkrTVB0eO49CntkEMO_Pw_8febZ7SrOsOTYHj5_O7Up6TBGWEh1L2Uaa3yY9OsCoLjSWk1T0A7PzfIuXzJweNUg60zXJ6hf0f04mcqq0CiA0/s1600/DSC_0019.jpg" height="424" width="640" /></a></div>
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Take pictures people.</div>
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On your phone.</div>
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bad pictures, good pictures, lots of pictures,</div>
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just take them.</div>
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you won't regret it.</div>
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And that is no April Fools. </div>
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Happy Day, friends.</div>
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jessica dukeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15342672963520507496noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1781813083676624176.post-83212137286710026692014-03-20T14:57:00.000-05:002014-03-20T14:57:32.689-05:00Paleo for Dummies.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUz0xZ0j5z3tCyisnyTRY9Z93kB7C7kWMlbTEuDeMuEtQSqfgjbhDpTispL2s5V638s4N6U0aMIdPaf8ZjSNfL-owIn85jS6dlKZcReafIDo0DFij3JXGFpGOsZ1lQxgPOwroXkmvQy9M/s1600/IMG_0939.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUz0xZ0j5z3tCyisnyTRY9Z93kB7C7kWMlbTEuDeMuEtQSqfgjbhDpTispL2s5V638s4N6U0aMIdPaf8ZjSNfL-owIn85jS6dlKZcReafIDo0DFij3JXGFpGOsZ1lQxgPOwroXkmvQy9M/s1600/IMG_0939.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
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I will be the first to admit I like a good project. The weirder, often times, the better. Late last year, I began researching The Paleo Diet, the more I read and became familiar with the paleo lifestyle (let me also mentioned that i am reallllllly good at hyper focusing on something. some may call it obsessing), I decided the health benefits alone was a reason to try it. Brad jumped on board and we both decided to try it for one month. </div>
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Simply put: <b>NO grains, gluten, dairy, peanuts, legumes</b></div>
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<b>ALL THE meat, nuts, seeds, veggies and fruits you can bear.</b></div>
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(fruit has a ton of natural sugar, so limit your intake)</div>
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It's a little more refined than that, but that is the general idea.</div>
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We started in January, and have allowed ourselves one cheat (cupcakes from whole foods on my birthday) in February and then last sunday we allowed ourselves another cheat. </div>
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I am a convert to the paleo lifestyle. As I learn and find out more information it makes me excited about the good things that are going on inside of my body. And that is nothing but a good good thing.</div>
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As an added bonus, I have lost twenty pounds, like it literally just fell off me. So, that alone, is awesome. I am excited to see what this next year brings as I embark on my first year as a newbe paleo-ite. </div>
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Wanna try it? Shoot me an email, I will tell you all I know.</div>
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I WILL tell you this, <a href="http://thepaleomom.com/">thepaleomom.com</a> is my very favorite resource. If you are interested in paleo, I would start with her website.</div>
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P.S. My very thing to do is google something I am craving,or a request from Brad but with 'paleo' in front of it --- example: paleo pizza --- and then search for the best, but simplest recipe and create it for dinner. Promise, we have yet to have a bad meal. </div>
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jessica dukeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15342672963520507496noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1781813083676624176.post-36625980990835188062014-02-08T15:09:00.001-06:002014-02-08T15:09:17.626-06:00Mom.On Saturday, we had dad's memorial service.
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<br>On Wednesday, we celebrated the day I was born.
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<br>On Wednesday, I received my first birthday card signed 'I love you, Mama."
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<br>That's the first card I have received in my thirty-eight years of life that excluded my father. It made my gut hurt and made my throat immediately burn. The note from my mom said 'I'm making you a quilt out of all your daddy's flannel shirts.' I can think of nothing in this world I want more.
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<br>Let's go back to Wednesday, when I checked the mail on my birthday and there was a happy card in the mail from my mom. Three days previous we had said good-bye to my dad. And yes, he was my nearly perfect dad but before that he was my moms best friend, love, and partner for 52 years. For 52 years, they were inseparable even until the very end. Literally. And if any year there was a year she got a pass in mailing me a card to receive on my actual birthday, this was the year.
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<br>My mom is amazing. She has always been but still, she continues to blow me away. She got up Sunday, went to church alone and then has continued to be upbeat and positive. She's alone now in a house that my dad built so long ago.
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<br>When dad started getting "bad" meaning his legs starting to fail him more and his mind worse and worse she remained by his side. As a man that stood over 6 foot tall who was all legs, it's hard. He should have been in a wheelchair long ago, but he walked until the very end because of my mom. She got him out and about, even though getting him to, and then into the car was a days work, she still took him places. His mind stayed sharp as long as it did because of my mom. His body stayed healthy as long as it did because of my mom. He was clean and well taken care of because...of my mom.
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<br>Often during the course of the last few weeks, I'm asked "how's your mom?" And the person asking looks as though they are prepared for a story of sadness but 9 times out of 10 I have found myself saying. "You know, my dad gave her a gift. A gift of life. Because of his passing, she is going to be able to live again."
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<br>Sure, we're going to miss him like crazy. Fathers Day, Christmas, and all the holidays that your dad should be there will take a different tone this year. But his legacy will forever live on.
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<br>Through me, through my children, through my brother, my nephews, all who knew him and loved him.
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<br>Mom though. She's amazing. She's tough. She's...the strongest woman I know.jessica dukeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15342672963520507496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1781813083676624176.post-32455787044814667822014-01-31T14:02:00.000-06:002014-01-31T14:02:36.993-06:00Dad.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU82hyo2cssrCCbqh-wR2JrcpDgoKxKeITZIxUaWu1GzAm24jQg2PsEDu41i0_NdC9dW0PODVu8qjsoO-dxT-fjiuoix67CWEUYE1sQlWq-tkQtxPow6Z6qXX2axODZWEBBN0GP0CZlks/s1600/DSC_0955.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU82hyo2cssrCCbqh-wR2JrcpDgoKxKeITZIxUaWu1GzAm24jQg2PsEDu41i0_NdC9dW0PODVu8qjsoO-dxT-fjiuoix67CWEUYE1sQlWq-tkQtxPow6Z6qXX2axODZWEBBN0GP0CZlks/s1600/DSC_0955.jpg" height="424" width="640" /></a></div>
Christmas Eve, I had my camera in my hand and I noticed that Dad was doing what had become a habit since I was a wee-little girl. He was reading his bible. Complete with his glasses lowered so low on his nose that they continually fell off, even though they were <i>just righ</i>t and his hands turning every page, often times tearing out page after page of his worn bible. I stopped what I was doing and just watched him and something told me I would want that picture. The picture of his hands, rough and calloused from always working with his hands, building, inventing, gardening and <i>turning pages of the bible that he had memorized.</i><br />
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When I visited with him a few weeks ago, he asked me to get his bible, so I did, and then got his glasses adjusted just so, and sat the bible in his lap. Southern gospel music blaring in the background and often a <i>"that's a good one, Jessica, turn it up." "Dad, it's pretty loud." "Turn it up, Jessica." "Yes, sir." "you know this one? </i>he'd say<i>. it's a good one."</i> patting his foot to the perfect rhythm all the while. <i>"Will you find Romans 5 for me?" </i>So, I found Romans 5 for him, and said, <i>"here dad, you want me to read it to you" </i>and he said gently <i>"no"</i> and then began to quote:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into his grace which we now stand, And we boast in the hope and the glory of God...</b></blockquote>
That was the last time I saw my sweet daddy alive. That was the last day I conversed with him and talked to him. We talked about where I could get some old barn wood. He asked me why I wanted some and I told him that I wanted to make a headboard. "<i>In a little while we will go out there and look in the barn, I can make you a headboard." </i> His nature was a servant. Even when his legs were failing him, and his memory was almost gone, it was natural for him to say, <i>"I can make you that headboard..." </i>and it was in my nature to say,<i> "okay, daddy"</i><br />
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You are never old enough to loose a parent, one of my friends said this week and that is so true. Today as I sat and ate lunch, and while I was waiting for it to cook I grabbed a pickle and I thought about how dad loved anything that was pickled, eggs, beets, cucumbers, if it was sour, he liked it. And then as i ate my turkey burger that had more cayenne pepper on it than should be aloud I thought about him again, he liked it spicy and his food hot. I am my fathers daughter.<br />
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I have told several friends this week it is such an odd feeling, I know God has always heard my prayers but now I feel like he is really tuned in, like when I pray dad nudges Jesus and says, <i>"that's my girl, you listening?" </i><br />
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I'm so proud that he was my dad. I am so proud that his blood runs through my veins and that his legacy is the one that I get to live out. <br />
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That last day I sat with dad and saw him, he gave me this gem that I will have for as long as I live. His gospel music channel blaring and in the midst of that four part harmony that he loved so much a gentle el shaddai by Amy Grant came on and my dad started lifting his hands and saying every word. And with tears falling fast as they have ever fallen onto my lap, with my hand as steady as I could keep it, I recorded dad being dad, worshipping the Lord.<br />
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I don't have to tell you to rest in peace, daddy...because you are dancing, you are walking, you are talking loudly and your body is finally whole. <br />
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Dance, Walk and Talk in peace, Daddy. I love you.<br />
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<br />jessica dukeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15342672963520507496noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1781813083676624176.post-78066796930991099012013-10-07T15:30:00.001-05:002013-10-07T15:30:28.554-05:00WOMEN: find the doctor that's right for YOU.I had an extremely long and wordy post almost finished then my hand started hurting so I quit writing. Also, I was kinda bored with the entire thing so here's where we start over.
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<br>Women. Take charge of your health.
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<br>I am a healthy thirty seven year old who wants to have a baby more than anything. The last two years I have had two miscarriages and four OBGYNs.
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<br>The later of the two losses occurred just a few weeks ago and is still occurring actually as I watch my hcg levels fluctuate from low to high back down to low.
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<br>Thursday, I ended the week with a bang. Bang. Like hospital bang. After a ER visit I landed in the hospital for two days with an ectopic pregnancy rupture possibly OR cyst rupture possibly. All I know is it was a ton of pain and scary.
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<br>And it was sad, sure. But we had already found out I had miscarried a few weeks ago so it was more a mission of figuring out the problem and getting to the solution.
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<br>Four OBs in two years. One after another, all three until my latest did not take an interest in me or my specific case or concerns. All of these doctors were highly recommended to me, but we didn't click for some reason.
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<br>I'm pretty passive by nature. So switching doctors until I found the right one was out of my comfort zone. But miscarrying everytime I find out I'm pregnant is also out of my comfort zone.
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<br>Finding a doctor that cared about my specific case has been challenging and frustrating. Because should all doctors be proactive and care the same?
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<br>Women: I urge you. Go to the doctor. And if your reasoning for avoiding the doctor is because you don't like your current doctor, find another. Just because the doctor is "the best" doesn't mean she's "the best" for you.
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<br>Me: Pressing on.jessica dukeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15342672963520507496noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1781813083676624176.post-77821176987034883342013-10-03T12:14:00.001-05:002013-10-03T12:14:26.374-05:00right where I need to be.He carried me to bed for as long as I can remember. Even when I was too big, to otall to be carried. With my toes barely brushing the floor, I was still safe in his arms being carried by my daddy. After a prayer, he would look at me with love and affection like I was his prize, tell me he loved me and gently turn and walk out of my bedroom.
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<br>As soon as I would wake up the next morning, his face would be the first I see. Sometimes it was mom, but often it was him. Awake, happy to start his day as a mechanic that everyone new and loved, but I knew there was no where he'd rather be than at home with me.
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<br>Today, it's six am on a Saturday. I just made the hour trek from my home with Brad to my parents home so my mom could go to the market to sell her baked goods for extra money; honestly, that's her cover - the truth is so she can go to the market and socialize with everyone from town and a much needed break from the constant care she gives my father. I'm here because dad can't be left alone. The electricity is out on this almost fall-like day because of a storm that not only washed out my parents gravel driveway (if you're from the country you know what I mean) but made my drive a little more prayerful than I'd like.
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<br>He's asleep. I'm in the living room, the closest room to him, listening to him breathe, wondering how in the world my mom has collected SO MANY antiques as I look around. Nervously I listening to every snore because if I hear the bed crackle at all, I'll be there to make sure he doesn't fall. To make sure he doesn't need me. Like he did for me all those years ago.
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<br>The tables have turned. And here I sit, listening for dad. When he wakes up, I'll help him to the table and make his cereal; just like he did for me. And then we'll make our way to the den. He, walking in front. Me, holding tight to his belt loops praying his gait that Parkinson's stole will hold him steady and my hands and body will be the fortress that he needs to get him there. Then we will sit. Look at each other. He'll smile at me a lot and ask me sweet questions like, "How's Brad?" "Where's Brad?" "How's your car doing?" "Have you changed the oil lately." "Need me to go check it out for you." And I'll gladly answer them all. He'll mainly ask about Brad. He loves him, especially.
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<br>Its a sweet morning. It's a good morning. I'm right where I need to me.
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<br>*this was written two weeks ago on a Saturday from my phone.**jessica dukeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15342672963520507496noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1781813083676624176.post-22836977956779259752013-09-04T06:30:00.000-05:002013-09-04T06:30:02.549-05:00i'm outta here!i like my life and am content, BUT if i HAD to take three months off and for the purpose of this blog and participation in <a href="http://storyofmylifetheblog.blogspot.com/2013/08/blogtember-september-blog-challenge.html">blogtember</a>, guess i need to dream big here.<br />
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<a href="http://storyofmylifetheblog.blogspot.com/2013/08/blogtember-september-blog-challenge.html">if i could take three months off from my current job, what would i do?</a><br />
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i would grab brad (supposing he could have those three months off as well) and peggy, hop in the car and travel the country. stopping along the way at good hole in the wall places to eat, fun places to stay and never meet a stranger those three months. maybe do some daring adventures along the way. something new every day.<br />
read some good books.<br />
no phones.<br />
and just get away and dream.<br />
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it would look something like this, i'd imagine.<br />
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<a href="http://www.destination360.com/"><img border="0" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE1rCU4YHye7RQ1ZWAUGT2NUXIzTOupNpZJE7_1g88sDdqX7PYehjD6OPB4y5SlKmeIof_yh9HbQuKfNFnNZXsWk1BCSU37nLmvqKPSIwG3oeo23Dn_zm1YZ6AVi1wzI-24Uo2Uyb1JHY/s640/beach-vacations.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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and since we're using our imaginations so well right now, let us just pretend i would look like that too.</div>
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sometimes, i'm hilarious.</div>
<a data-pin-do="embedPin" href="http://pinterest.com/pin/478577897872758584/"></a>jessica dukeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15342672963520507496noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1781813083676624176.post-40218373001364767342013-09-03T06:38:00.000-05:002013-09-03T06:38:56.433-05:00where i come from.<b>if i think about it for more than a minute it makes me incredibly sad that brad will never know <i>know</i> my father. </b><br />
<img src="http://i1107.photobucket.com/albums/h387/morrisonlane/blogger/DSC_1019-1.jpg" width="700" /><br />
sure he knows him, but he will never <i>know</i> him.<br />
<br />
he had early onset dementia by the time we got married and in the past two and a half years since then his mind has slowly gotten worse and worse. <strike>i think</strike> i know that god gave me a glimpse of <i>he's the one and your daddy approves</i> early on though just by my dad always knowing brad and when brad wasn't around he would always say <i>"where is brad? how is brad?"</i> even before greeting me when i would even consider showing up at home without that guy. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://storyofmylifetheblog.blogspot.com/2013/08/blogtember-september-blog-challenge.html">when i think about where i come from, who makes me who i am? </a> i immediately think of jesus and because of him i am who i am. but i learned his heart by watching my parents first truly have a heart of jesus. anyone who may read this post and know my mom and dad would affirm this without question. <br />
<br />
they always love without bounds.<br />
they never meet a stranger.<br />
they would give the shirt of their back for the comfort of a stranger.<br />
my mom has prepared meals for more people that i could even begin to count, and still says to this day she does not like to cook. i do not believe her.<br />
i watched them have a daily quiet time.<br />
i saw first hand my dads ragged prayer list that he had had for years and years and years that was longer than any list should be, except a prayer list, and i watched him pray over everything on that list daily. my husband making that list the day i was born.<br />
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i could go on and on, but because if them i am who i am. if i am even half the woman my mother or father is, i will have considered my life a success. <br />
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i can think of no two better humans than to come from. <br />
and god picked me to be their daughter.<br />
some would call that lucky, i believe i'm especially blessed.<br />
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<a href="http://storyofmylifetheblog.blogspot.com/"></a>jessica dukeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15342672963520507496noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1781813083676624176.post-66545396926292226272013-08-11T17:12:00.000-05:002013-08-11T17:12:40.880-05:00a series of unfortunate events.we didn't have working plumbing the end of last week for three days. and a mess downstairs because the plumbing decided to get clogged.<i> a mess. the one you never ever want to clean up. yeah, that one.</i><div>
the plumber could not fix it until the rain stopped, and for three days it rained non-stop. so for three days we couldn't shower or flush. thankfully, we stayed away from home one night, but the other nights we just<i> grin</i>ned <i>and bear</i>ed it...and quick fast and in a hurry went to target if the <i>need arose. </i></div>
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target. always saves the day.</div>
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right about the time the plumbing was fixed, i was taking peggy for a walk. and noticed a dead carcass of something that i didn't want to look too closely on our very front lawn, closer to the house. because i had thrown the broom and dustpan away earlier in the week because it was time, <i>seeing that i had to use those things to clean the mess downstairs, </i>we had to use the only dustpan we had left to clean the yuck out of the front yard. <b>wait, brad cleaned it...i just shut my eyes and yelled out the door directions while i gagged. </b></div>
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while he was cleaning that, i was inside making a<i> let's celebrate we can potty and shower all weekend! </i>dinner, and as i was reaching in the refrigerator i knocked over the jar of pickles spilling the pickle juice over every inch of the 'frig and floor. <i>not awesome.</i></div>
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seriously.</div>
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brad outside cleaning...gaaagggg...me inside cleaning up pickle juice. right about the time i put the towel in the sink for the final rinse, everything in the kitchen turned off. stove, microwave, you name it. everything. </div>
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luckily that was just a breaker. and fixed in a hurry.</div>
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wake up the next day, head outside to go meet a friend and brad says, <i>"jessica...jessica..." </i>looking at something as he is getting in the car. because i am a wimp i just knew it was another dead animal he was staring at...but nope, it was my tire. completely flat.</div>
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other than that, the weekend was great. how about you?</div>
jessica dukeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15342672963520507496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1781813083676624176.post-60377747266706291212013-07-26T07:21:00.000-05:002013-07-26T07:21:00.360-05:00happy friday, friends!i took this picture last weekend outside of brad's parents house.<br />
<img src="http://i1107.photobucket.com/albums/h387/morrisonlane/blogger/DSC_0451-1.jpg" width="700" /><br />
i have looked at it several times this week and am really drawn to it. i think it perfectly describes what i was feeling the moment i took it. i love how pictures do that sometimes, and then years to come it is constant and unchanged.<br />
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happy weekend friends.jessica dukeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15342672963520507496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1781813083676624176.post-11035519547452463242013-07-25T06:59:00.000-05:002013-07-25T06:59:19.562-05:00iworkout: workout clothesfor forever, i bought workout clothes at target. you know, workout clothes = black loose fitting yoga pants and a tshirt that i have had for forever. workout clothes, right?<br />
wrong.<br />
<br />
wrong for years and years and years. <br />
<br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">[i believe] </span></b><i>working out consistently and getting into a routine of working out is as much a mind game as a physical game.</i> and looking the part completely messes with your mind, it also makes you feel cute and put together and who doesn't want to work out when you have an awesome outfit that is all cute and put together? [this is the part where you raise your hand]<br />
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honestly, my boss gave me a gift card to lululemon LAST february for my birthday, this birthday because i was afraid of looking cute, <b>[or maybe i didn't think i could fit into lululemon] </b>i still had not spent it. so she bought me some pants in exchange for the gift card. sometimes i am complicated like that. and they FIT. and were awesome! fit with room and were long enough {i'm 5'10"} and i loved them so much, i bought another pair of fitted capri pants from them. which i love as well.<br />
<br />
but those pants together were nearly $200.00 which makes me cringe<strike> just a little</strike> <b>a lot. </b> but i loved how i felt in them. i felt so put together and just like i was a real life workout girl. you know that feeling? i'm learning it.<br />
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sure, i was still rocking my bubba gump t-shirt from hawaii circa 2000, but it was a small step in the right direction. for my brain, and my body.<br />
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then one day, i stumbled upon old navys workout clothes and thought <i>"man, i need to try these pants! </i>they were on sale for $15.00 and that is a price i can wrap my head around. so i ordered a few pair...and i LOVED THEM. <br />
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loved them.</div>
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six pair deep. i love them.<br />
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i even have shirts to match now. well, not exactly match. i'm not a huge fan of matching, but shall we say <i>"go together, coordinate?" </i>- you name it, i am decked out daily in my old navy attire. sports bra, shirt and the capri leggins.<br />
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yesterday, i ordered two more pair. they were on sale for $15.00 and then an extra 20% off, i mean, YOU CAN NOT beat that price people, and they are awesome. <br />
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i have only ordered/worn the compression capri and full length pants. <br />
here's some pictures of some other goodness i own. dude.<br />
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i<b> said ALL OF THAT TO SAY...up the ante on the workout attire. trust me you'll be glad you did. and i am pretty pretty confident you workout harder when you are wearing cute workout attire.</b><br />
<b>can i get an amen?</b><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">this was not a paid post, all these opinions are my own. although, wouldn't it be awesome if it was a paid post? because i totally just did old navy workout attire proud.</span>jessica dukeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15342672963520507496noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1781813083676624176.post-39049188831283550932013-07-16T18:48:00.000-05:002013-07-16T18:48:12.481-05:00in fifteen minutes...a few weeks ago, the brothers were at camp and it was sister and my turn to pick them up. i happened to have my camera in the car that day, and sister happened to be real cute that day...the rest, is history. <br />
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<img src="http://i1107.photobucket.com/albums/h387/morrisonlane/blogger/DSC_0047-2.jpg" width="700" /><br />
and then the brothers camp bussed rolled in and our car party was over.<br />
boys!jessica dukeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15342672963520507496noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1781813083676624176.post-16364932766389282072013-07-08T07:00:00.000-05:002013-07-08T07:00:07.997-05:00my little tattletale.<img src="http://i1107.photobucket.com/albums/h387/morrisonlane/blogger/DSC_0015-1.jpg" width="700" /><br />
every morning when i get to work, i do my rounds. i am a little bit (hush, brad!) OCD and have my routine. i go from room to room and make sure they are all tidy, and if not tidy them up before i really do anything.<i> everyday.</i> i usually land in the kitchen, every morning i say to lil bit who often is hand in hand with me on this adventure,<i> "lil bit, go check your brothers room. see if they made their beds."</i> in a voice that says we know they in fact did not. when in all honestly, 9 times out of 10 they do make their beds. but since she is three she looks for every opportunity for<i> the brudders</i> to disappoint.<br />
<br />
and if they did [in fact, forget to make their beds] she comes back to the stair landing overlooking the kitchen and throws those hands on her hips and says, <i>"caca! dey did NOT make deer beds! can you believe dat?"</i><br />
<br />
and then i say, <i>"whhhaaaaat?" </i>for the dramatic effect, of course.<br />
<br />
then she grabs my hand and we have to run to their room only to witness the disappointment of the brudders.<br />
<br />
she lives for these moments.<br />
<br />
<i>so what are you doing at 8 am every morning?</i>jessica dukeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15342672963520507496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1781813083676624176.post-12769345716158204582013-07-05T13:34:00.001-05:002013-07-05T13:34:11.393-05:00eight is great!the little fellas turned eight last week and when i think back to how i have known them since they were one, it's kinda crazy. <i>we've come a long way, babies. </i>when i first started occasionally sitting for them, they were so little and had just started walking. and they would SCREAM the entire time i was there until FINALLY it was bedtime. honestly, it was a little intimidating since i AM the baby whisperer and just naturally good with the little ones that they would cry and cry when i was there. it was a downward spiral, one would stop, the other would stop. then they would look up at me with those big eyes like,<i> "crap! she's still here..." </i> and they would start screaming again. the ONLY thing that even settled them a little was bubbles outside, mickey mouse clubhouse and baths. needless to say, there were many nights i gave them hour baths while acting like mickey mouse and blowing bubbles. i finally won them over. and a looooong time later, here we are.<br />
<br />
just the other day, one of them said to me, <i>"ms. j...when you have babies you are going to be a really good mom, because we are HARD." </i><br />
<br />
i know kid. i know. oh, and thanks for the practice.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">here are some pictures from their 8th birthday. i had my lens that i just don't love on my camera that day, so excuse the imperfections galore.</span><br />
<img src="http://i1107.photobucket.com/albums/h387/morrisonlane/blogger/DSC_0034.jpg" width="700" /><br />
<img src="http://i1107.photobucket.com/albums/h387/morrisonlane/blogger/DSC_0027-3.jpg" width="700" /><br />
<img src="http://i1107.photobucket.com/albums/h387/morrisonlane/blogger/DSC_0035-1.jpg" width="700" /><br />
<img src="http://i1107.photobucket.com/albums/h387/morrisonlane/blogger/DSC_0058-1.jpg" width="700" /><br />
<img src="http://i1107.photobucket.com/albums/h387/morrisonlane/blogger/DSC_0096-2.jpg" width="700" /><br />
<img src="http://i1107.photobucket.com/albums/h387/morrisonlane/blogger/DSC_0099-1.jpg" width="700" /><br />
<img src="http://i1107.photobucket.com/albums/h387/morrisonlane/blogger/DSC_0103.jpg" width="700" /><br />
<img src="http://i1107.photobucket.com/albums/h387/morrisonlane/blogger/DSC_0112-1.jpg" width="700" /><br />
<img src="http://i1107.photobucket.com/albums/h387/morrisonlane/blogger/DSC_0125.jpg" width="700" /><br />
<img src="http://i1107.photobucket.com/albums/h387/morrisonlane/blogger/DSC_0189-1.jpg" width="700" /><br />
<img src="http://i1107.photobucket.com/albums/h387/morrisonlane/blogger/DSC_0211-4.jpg" width="700" /><br />
<img src="http://i1107.photobucket.com/albums/h387/morrisonlane/blogger/DSC_0283.jpg" width="700" /><br />
<img src="http://i1107.photobucket.com/albums/h387/morrisonlane/blogger/DSC_0350.jpg" width="700" /><br />
<img src="http://i1107.photobucket.com/albums/h387/morrisonlane/blogger/DSC_0379.jpg" width="700" /><br />
<img src="http://i1107.photobucket.com/albums/h387/morrisonlane/blogger/tugofwar.jpg" width="700" /><br />
<img src="http://i1107.photobucket.com/albums/h387/morrisonlane/blogger/DSC_0423-1.jpg" width="700" /><br />
what can i say, sister likes to dance.<br />
<br />
<br />jessica dukeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15342672963520507496noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1781813083676624176.post-8083531938914867352013-07-01T11:01:00.000-05:002013-07-01T11:01:15.919-05:00iworkout: socksif you are just now running (i crack myself up!) into this blog today, you may want to start <a href="http://morrisonlane.blogspot.com/2013/06/iworkout-beginning.html">here</a> and <a href="http://morrisonlane.blogspot.com/2013/06/iworkout-shoes.html">here</a> first, because you may be like <i>"ugh, girl is blogging about socks..." </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
now that you have read the previous posts <b>(you have, right?)</b>, let us carry on with socks. random: i love pens and pencils and the entire art of writing, like using pens and pencils, i have always loved them, i have a collection under my bed of some i may never open. some that i use all the time. love them. i kinda feel the same passion about socks as i do pens and pencils. <i>i feel like they are they are the secret ingredient between a good workout and a bad one. socks.</i><br />
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<a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/166351779958595889/" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="600" src="http://media-cache-ec3.pinimg.com/550x/e2/4e/ab/e24eab59f3b47925039f7fbf2eb896a6.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Source: <a href="http://www.runnersworld.com/photos/mothers-day-gifts-for-runners?cm_mmc=Pinterest-_-RunnersWorld-_-Content-Gear-_-MotherRunnerGiftGuide" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px; text-decoration: underline;">runnersworld.com</a> via <a href="http://pinterest.com/eribou/" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">Erin</a> on <a href="http://pinterest.com/" style="color: #76838b; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">Pinterest</a></div>
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<br />
and not just any socks.<a href="http://www.balega.com/"> <b>BALEGA SOCKS. </b></a> if you are a fan, you get it. if you have never heard of that funny word, then run to your nearest running store and try a pair on, they are like a treat for your feet and you may never want to take them off.<br />
<br />
my friend sarah introduced me to them when i was training hard a few years ago and i was like <i>honestly, socks...what is the big deal? walgreens has socks. </i> <i>socks are socks. </i> then i remember my shoe guy slipping that <a href="http://www.balega.com/">bad boy </a><b><a href="http://www.balega.com/">balega sock</a> </b>on my foot and saying <i>"you are never going to want to take this off..."</i> and i was still like<i> "okay, another crazed sock person." </i>and then he put it on and <b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">BAM.</span></b><br />
<br />
that's a true story, by the way. exactly how it happened.<br />
<br />
i read an article once by ali vincent, the winner of the the biggest loser a few seasons ago, and in the interview she said her favorite workout tool was socks. i completely agree. when you workout with a good sock <i>on</i> your foot<i> in</i> your shoe, you are not going to get blisters and your feet are going to thank you. with the impact you put on your feet working out, having a good shoe <i>and sock </i>are my two favorite components of a workout.<br />
<br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">go</span></b> <i>get a good sock.</i> if you take me sock shopping with you, i am going to CLEARLY point you in the <a href="http://www.balega.com/">balega sock</a> direction. so that's that.<br />
<br />
some other good socks out there that deserve an honorable mention are <a href="http://www.swiftwick.com/">swiftwick</a> and <a href="http://www.asicsamerica.com/">asics. </a> these two are my replacement socks on days my <a href="http://balega.com/">balega</a> ones are dirty. <br />
<br />
which is NEVER.<br />
<br />
let's go sock shopping! shall we?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />jessica dukeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15342672963520507496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1781813083676624176.post-26007749095924616372013-06-28T07:27:00.000-05:002013-06-28T07:27:14.789-05:00iworkout: shoeslet us start from the bottom up, shall we? <br />
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<a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/306104105893385212/" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="523" src="http://media-cache-ec3.pinimg.com/550x/2d/7b/92/2d7b928370319560979d5084106fd9d8.jpg" width="600" /></a></div>
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Source: <a href="https://www.google.com.my/search?newwindow=1&hl=en&site=imghp&tbm=isch&source=hp&biw=2051&bih=1001&q=women+adidas+shoes&oq=women+adidas+&gs_l=img.1.0.0l10.2709.9074.0.19224.13.9.0.4.4.0.97.658.9.9.0...0.0.0..1ac.1.17.img.Hk8WJgfWAwk#newwindow=1&hl=en&site=imghp&tbm=isch&q=women%20adidas%20running%20shoes&revid=1282762958&ei=y-PFUamXGYG4rAeYkYH4Dg&ved=0CAsQsSU&bav=on.2,or.r_cp.r_qf.&bvm=bv.48293060,d.bmk&fp=64df8b6a5b9fb6c7&biw=2051&bih=1001&facrc=_&imgdii=_&imgrc=HqiuGkuCbBeWJM:;y0AP8JtbIk98pM;http%253A%252F%252Fi2.keller-sports.com%252Fout%252Fpictures%252Fz1%252Fadidas-laufschuh-cc-chill-women-weiss-blau-rscad078-1_z1.jpg;http%253A%252F%252Fwww.keller-sports.com%252Frunning%252Frunning-shoe%252FAdidas-Running-shoe-CC-Chill-Women-white-blue.html;1775;1550" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px; text-decoration: underline;">google.com.my</a> via <a href="http://pinterest.com/howlingthunder/" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">howling</a> on <a href="http://pinterest.com/" style="color: #76838b; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">Pinterest</a></div>
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clearly if you are starting a workout program, you want good shoes. the best shoes for YOU. the best shoes for you MAY NOT be the coolest sneakers at the store that YOU LOVE. they may be the ugly plain ones, but fit your foot like a glove. <b><i> trust me, i am the girl with the ugly plain ones.</i></b><br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">true story:</span></b> a few years ago i trained for a half marathon and was wanting some fun colored tennis shoes to run those 13.1 miles in nashville, tennessee. i like my shoes kinda crazy,<i> i mean might as well have rainbow colored tennis shoes if you can, right? </i>well, when i went to get fitted for shoes, NOT ONE of the pair that my eyes liked were good for my foot. <b>NOT ONE. </b>i left the store with white tennis shoes, white laces and a little blue on the side. BOR. ING. <i>and they fit my foot like a glove. </i><b>DARN IT.</b><br />
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that was years ago. i have had three pair of those exact shoes since. they are boring. but they work for my foot the very best. <br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">FITTED: </span></b><i>what did you say? fitted? </i><br />
can't i just buy a pair of sneakers i just really like? i mean, they are all pretty much the same right?<br />
NO.<br />
<br />
<i>get your foot fitted to the shoe. less chance of injury. less chance of chin splints and the like. </i><br />
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<b>find the closest <a href="http://fleetfeet.com/">fleet feet </a>in your area. </b>everyone that works there has knowledge about the foot and will go from videoing your stride to taking you outside and watching you walk/run to see what your foot does. then they find the shoe that you need. my left foot, for example, turns in so i need a shoe with a substantial sole and more of a foundation on the insides of my foot to keep my left foot from turning in when i workout. <i>I ALWAYS want whatever shoe is neon and the loudest at the store,</i> and like i said - i always leave with nothing i would ever pick. womp womp. but when i am working out and my feet and legs feel great, i kinda want to hug those boring things.<br />
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also, did you know your feet really swell when you run/walk/workout? i normally wear a women size 9.5 or 10. usually they fit me for a 11-11.5 MENS running shoes. i mean, honestly? <i>swallow your pride that you may be petite, girl, and just run to the closest rack of cool socks. </i><br />
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<i>no, really.</i><br />
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always, to make myself feel better for having to get a big ole man shoe, i just buy some great fun girly NEON socks to go with those boring shoes. <br />
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the shoes at <a href="http://fleetfeet.com/">fleet feet</a> are <b>not </b>higher priced and you get more for your money with their expertise in knowing feet. and if you have any trouble with the shoes, you can return them, no questions asked. i got a wonky shoe a few years ago, just something wasn't right about the shoe. took them back, no receipt and they switched it out, no problem at all. <br />
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which ONLY MEANT, since i was there i had to just get more new socks...<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><b>this post was not sponsored in any way by fleet feet and is soley (pun intended) my opinion. also, the picture of the adidas shoes up above are not the boring shoes i was referring to - i just pulled the picture from pinterest.</b></span>jessica dukeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15342672963520507496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1781813083676624176.post-19648635501981142972013-06-26T07:28:00.001-05:002013-06-26T07:28:36.785-05:00iworkout: the beginning.<div style="line-height: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px;">
<a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/91479436153734170/" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="900" src="http://media-cache-ec3.pinimg.com/550x/57/53/2e/57532e8245d798446f2fc2892049d9ae.jpg" width="600" /></a></div>
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Source: <a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1781813083676624176" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px; text-decoration: underline;">Uploaded by user</a> via <a href="http://pinterest.com/freitas5/" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">Tracy</a> on <a href="http://pinterest.com/" style="color: #76838b; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">Pinterest</a></div>
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<br />
i've been going back and forth in my head <i>(and trust me, poor poor head)</i> about writing a series/information about working out. exercise. <br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>tips about...</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>shoes</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>socks</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>workout clothes</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>workouts</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>programs</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>motivation</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>etc</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>etc</b></div>
<br />
the list goes on and on...<br />
<br />
you see, i feel like i have much knowledge in these areas. and although i do not always listen to my own advise and have been on the quest for the perfect body for twenty years now...in the past few years though, and especially<i> this year </i>i feel like i have tapped into something new that i would love to share.<br />
<br />
so because this is my blog, <i>and also </i>because they are just helpful tips...what i would do...<i>i think i will. </i> i never want to sound like a know it all <b>(on here...i mean, with brad...maybe...KIDDING!)</b>.<br />
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so consider this your warning. for the next few blogs they will be centered around how to meet those fitness goals you have for yourself. and as i write to you, i am also writing to me.<br />
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so, thanks for reading. <br />
<b>now. go lace up those sneakers.</b>jessica dukeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15342672963520507496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1781813083676624176.post-32256597208130381592013-06-19T08:11:00.002-05:002013-06-19T08:11:48.170-05:00safety first: music festivals<b>hey happy campers!</b><br />
<br />
no need to beat a dead horse <i>(that saying sounds a lot better said not written...man.)</i> but those that follow this space or remotely keep up with me, know that last weekend we were at <a href="http://www.bonnaroo.com/">bonnaroo music and art festival.</a> we camped the four days we were there and enjoyed the lovely ninety degree humid tennessee weather.<br />
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<b>camped: </b><i> meaning we pulled our six collective cars together in the middle of our cars created a huge camping site. </i><br />
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and EVERY DAY as we were walking to and from centeroo (where all the fun was to be had) i would say ten times to brad, <i>"i swear, i can not believe they have their car running!" </i>every day as we were walking to and from centeroo cars would be started and the exhaust would be running<b><i> right into </i></b>a pretty closed in tent area. all the while people just hanging out in the tent. <b> HELLO DANGEROUS.</b><br />
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if that is you or has ever been you<b> DO NOT DO THAT. </b> that is so dangerous, even deadly, guys.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>think it through. exhaust running straight into a small tent. NO.</i></b></div>
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and for those of you that are like me thinking,<i> "i can not believe anyone would do that!"</i> yeah, i would have thought that too. it's a problem, there should be a rule. l<b>ike a rule that you have to leave/get kicked out if you do this. </b> it's scary to me. there were over 80,000 people that attended this festival, most all of them campers and any given day just walking in my row of tents and campers to and from the stages, i would see upwards of ten cars AT THE LEAST running exhaust into their tent.<br />
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<i>so i wrote all that to say:</i> <b> if you ever camp at a music festival KEEP YOUR CAR OFF if it is running into your tent. </b><br />
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DEAL?<br />
<br />
<b>i have never used this many 'caps lock' in my entire life. </b><br />
this post was exhausting to write.<br />
<b>exhausting? exhaust....DON'T DO IT.</b><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>love this happy camper who is a little exhausted because of all of the exhaust,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>jessica</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>shew.</i></div>
jessica dukeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15342672963520507496noreply@blogger.com0