• Things I Should Warn You About

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~ Hopeful honesty from simple sentences

shenrydafrankmann

Monthly Archives: November 2018

Crisco is not the Answer

27 Tuesday Nov 2018

Posted by shenrydafrankmann in bicycling

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

life, middle age, relationships, technology

This time of year is always filled with transitions, changes required due to cold weather coming on and the snow/moisture that comes with it, as well as the decreased amount of daylight available.  As soon as I come home, I am greeted by the mass of Christmas decorations that adorn my condominium unit, a brightly lit and Cardinal infested tree in front of my living room windows reminding me that the season has begun.  When I wake in the morning, I am reminded quickly that my exercise and diet need to be adjusted to a disciplined routine, my waist straining to overtake my jeans as I pull them on.

Warning — Using Crisco to facilitate pulling on tight pants is not recommended.  People question the stains and lard can cause a painful rash.  Shoehorns are also not recommended as they can get stuck.. or lost depending on the extent of your “transition”.

Last night I visited a friend for a night of watching football, something that is becoming a bit of a weekly thing.  When I arrived, he was showing another friend the bicycle training set up in his kitchen.

Yes, we’re single men.  Single men are able to keep bicycles inside the house without fear of repercussion or bicycle destruction at the hands of a distressed female.

kickr_snap_ls.jpgJohn has a nice set up, his Cervelo connected to a Wahoo Kickr resistance trainer.  That trainer transmits via Bluetooth to a PC which has a Zwift subscription.  Zwift is a training app that controls the resistance as you “train” online with (or against) friends, a virtual group ride through various simulated terrain.  My friend’s eyes glistened as he described a recent training ride where he and another friend dropped the lead group, then carefully waited for the right moment to sprint to the finish line.  John raised an arm in triumph as he recalled edging his “training partner” at the line.

Let me pause as I wipe the drool off of my keyboard.  I WANT THAT TRAINING SET UP!  Can you say ho ho ho?

This time of year can be filled with dreams of training sugar plums.  Last Friday morning, my friend Mike gleefully showed me the app he uses for his diet and training.  Mike is a body builder, so he watches his calorie intake closely.  He has some cred, enough that I respect what he is telling me.  Mike uses an app called My Fitness Pal, something I think I am going to try to help me make it through the Winter transition.  The app is free, with a premium option, so it can’t hurt to try.  It features a dietary log with tons of restaurant food and recipes loaded in to aid in tracking calories.  Favorite recipes can be saved, a useful tool when setting up a menu and grocery list.

We shall see.  My best riding seasons have been preceded with a disciplined off season that includes some kind of electronic resistance training (usually Computrainer) and diet.

Happy Transition-mas!!!

 

A Touch of Sun on a Cloudy Day

24 Saturday Nov 2018

Posted by shenrydafrankmann in family

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

divorce

He called Wednesday before I could call him.  I kicked myself when I had seen his message earlier that afternoon, the chance to get off work early and ride some single track took precedence over anything else.  My intention had been to check in with him in the evening just to see if his plans for Thanksgiving had changed.  When I asked my son a week or two ago, he told me he had to work his job at the sporting goods store.  Of course, his phone call to me could have been an emergency or to get help from me, as it usually is.  Nate does not usually offer to spend time with family, although that has changed since the divorce, family something he seems to value a little more now that part of family is no more.  Prior to the divorce, he was indifferent to family time at holidays, as if he loathed every second, detached and somewhat hostile, a teenage attitude.  He seems to have grown up a bit in the last year, a necessity I suppose, enough that I have felt cautiously encouraged by what he has demonstrated to me in the past few months.

Parenting has always involved guesswork of sorts.  I have never been one to read books on parenting, although I did read James Dobson’s book well before I actually became a parent.  With me, effort far exceeds skill when it comes to being a father, my hope that the time invested in my children will be the value added.  Well aware of my own imperfections and quirks, I want to be the best father I am capable of being.  I have my own father as an example, himself flawed like anyone else, his heart and intentions so strong that even his faults are a valuable strength to me.  I am a version of my father.  I wish I had married a woman as fiercely supportive as my mother was to my father.  My own strengths as a father might be what my children see.  Divorce clouds their perception, I think.. on occasions I hope so.

Divorce also further clouds the confusion of parenting.  I am even more afraid of making a mistake now, the opportunities to make an impact rare.  My children are older, one away in another country, the other lives with his mother.  What exists with them is what came before, as well as their perception of what they know about me now.  That often is not positive, hurtful when I hear it from them.  Nate tends to spew accusations when he is angry, accusations that come from what his mother has said to him, pre and post divorce.  I need to be careful what I say, always have needed to be careful, especially with my son.  When he is angry or wants something, he attacks and will try to use everything he can to “win”.  Over the years, I learned to expect that from him, arguments that were next to impossible to escape when we lived in the same house, often fueled by a wife who encouraged him to keep coming at me.  It came to a point where divorce became the only conceivable option to escape that pain.  I hated the frustration, the struggle with the anger the situations brought on.

Divorce can be a selfish act.  It is a selfish act, but divorce can also be the only way to save self.  Believe me, I did and still do feel selfish at times, but I know that I need to be.  Finding the healthy line between self and selfishness is not so easy.

Early Wednesday evening, I called and left a message, then texted him to see what was up.  I was getting a little worried.  Nate wasn’t returning my calls.  I was concerned that he had an emergency.  He called back around 8:30 PM.. looking for a fight.  Why hadn’t I called to check on him?  He wanted to come to the Thanksgiving dinner at my brother’s, the dinner I had invited him to.  He had to work at 5:30 on Thanksgiving day, so he couldn’t stay long, but he wanted to come.  I told him that would be great — but would he be OK with my lady friend being there?  There was a pause, then he told me he wouldn’t go, then hung up.

I expected that.  He called back, furious.  How could I expect him to be OK with me dating after only a year?  I understand a little.  I don’t expect him to like it.  Even though I have told him I am dating, I have not discussed that with him.  It’s tough and discussing the tough topics is where I am far from perfect.  I don’t know what is the best timing, if there is any, and I am afraid of saying the wrong thing.

I have several friends who have post divorce relationships destroyed by letting children dictate their relationship with their fiancé and second wife.  It’s tough.  One had the wedding called off because he said the wrong thing about his fiancé’s daughter, the other is facing divorce with his second wife for asking his wife to do something about the attitude her daughter was giving him.  Both women were offended, both ended the relationship.  Children don’t see your girlfriend or new wife as family.  They can see them as an intrusion.

My lady friend (thank you, downstairs neighbor, for giving me that term) has been a blessing to me.  After years of neglect, of no support, I have someone who understands the importance of supporting me.  I need to show her the same — and I did just that.

Nate called Thanksgiving morning with an ultimatum — tell my girlfriend that she had to stay home and he would go to Thanksgiving with me.  He was angry with me, said that it was too soon for me to be dating.  I wondered why he brought it up, since he knows I have a girlfriend.  I stayed calm with him because it’s all that works with him, even though he was cursing at me, accusing me of cheating on his mom, all the angst and pent up frustration coming out.  I know my son.  I know how he is going to act when he is angry.  All I can do is listen, not offer up too much as he will jump on everything.  Respect is not something he has been encouraged to have for me, nor has it been expected of him.  He would try to brow beat me, try to turn it into an argument.

I excused myself, told him that I had to take a shower and get ready.  He called back twice.  I finally told him that I was sorry, but he had a choice.  I was not doing something bad to him like he was accusing me of doing.  I was not going to leave my girlfriend at home.  I told him that I was sorry that it was difficult for him.  He was still angry, told me that there was no way he was going to eat Thanksgiving dinner with his mother, aunt, and 96 year old grandparents.  It was my fault that he would be spending Thanksgiving alone.  It was his choice, I told him.   It was, difficult as it was.

I felt bad, but the times of his mother taking his side and forcing me into agreeing are gone.  Neither of them has that power any more.  He called me selfish.  Maybe I am.  As I said, divorce is selfish.  The decision to divorce was tough for that reason, but it was also a time when I knew I needed to do it for myself.  During the course of one of his phone calls to me yesterday, my son asked me how I would have reacted if the shoe was on the other foot, if my father had done what I am doing.  I know the answer to that.  I didn’t answer my son, but I know the answer to his question.  I was not only taught to respect my father, I was expected to respect my father.. not because he had earned my respect (although he did, even in his imperfection.. which I am thankful for both).  My dad deserved my respect because he was my father.  If I were in the same situation as Nate, I would have gone out of respect for my father.  My son doesn’t understand that because he has never been expected or taught to respect me by his mother.  That was so hurtful, so painful during the course of our marriage.  While not perfect, I know I earned respect that was never given.

Despite that drama, it was a good day.  My lady friend looked out of this world good, let me know how much it meant for me to show her that my son was not going to control our relationship.  My father enjoyed the chance to meet her and talk to her.  We had to call them several times to come to dinner, something I was glad to see.  My ten year old niece greeted us at the front door, barely let me out of her sight, saved a chair for me next to her at the table, insisted I play games with her after dinner.  It was cute.  Dad proudly showed me his new truck.  Despite what had happened earlier, I had someone with me who showed me honor, made me feel good about myself.  Will my lady friend be the next chapter for me?  It’s way too early to tell, but she is helping me through this chapter of my life, helping me to feel whole again.  Did I make the right choice when I told my son that I was taking her with me for Thanksgiving no matter what he said?

I wish I knew.  I really do.  Maybe some day I will know.

Bad Afternoons and Shared Tears

13 Tuesday Nov 2018

Posted by shenrydafrankmann in family

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

life

Dad sent my brothers and I an email last Friday afternoon, the subject line read Bad Afternoon.  Almost two months to the day after mom passed — the period of relief has begun to lessen, all the business and busy work that followed the memorial has been accomplished.  Their house is suddenly bigger and more quiet than he ever imagined it would be without her.  No matter how many people invite him to dinner or to join him for a show, it’s not enough to fill the space she occupied for 58 years.  Loneliness has set in, my father has realized what his wife and companion meant to him for so long.  With all that room in the house that they built together, there is now room for grief.  It’s time for that to happen.

Dad sold both of their vehicles a few weeks ago, a Toyota Tacoma truck and a Kia Sorento SUV, bought himself a Nissan Frontier truck with all the bells and whistles.. his “Cruck” as he calls it.  He is like a kid with that new vehicle, fretting over the little tweaks and details to make it right for him.  The guy shelled out $800 for new tires over the weekend, just to make the ride a bit more quiet.  Then he came home, realized he couldn’t tell mom about it, couldn’t beam and brag to her.  She was happy when he was happy.

Friday afternoon can be relaxed for me, the work week winding down.  So, after I read Dad’s email, I decided to give him a call.  My father was reaching out to his boys and I am glad he does.  There is a strong bond in my family, so evident during the past few months as our mother became more ill.  We know each other like family, share our good and bad, rejoice and fret together.  Not once ever has there been a case where there is jealousy or judgement, a testament to the cement that has brought us together — our parents.

Dad and I celebrated that together during that phone call, with joyful tears mixed with our grief.  I told Dad how grateful I am that I can look at him and my brothers, see what it has meant to each of us to have a mother who cared to teach her boys to be men.  It took me about five minutes to get that sentence out.  It felt good to say that while knowing what I said is completely true.  What we are seeing is complete support, transparency that you might not expect from four men, all possible because of the acceptance we experience through each other.  We had a mother who pulled no punches, encouraged us to talk, listened and acted when she needed to.  It shows.  She also pulled no punches when it came to her faith in God, expected the same from all of us (including Dad, who came to a saving faith through her), and as a result there are four men in this world whose faith is rock solid.

Dad and I can relate to each other right now, that common bond mentioned during that phone call.  We have both experienced and are experiencing the challenge of being alone.  I faced years where more and more I was alone, or felt that way, as my marriage began to disintegrate.  Reality that eventually I would be alone was something I feared, the eventuality and finality I avoided with dread.  Dad saw a while ago that mom’s health was failing, has always known that when that happened that she might give up.  I think he feared being without her in the same way I feared being alone.  The pain that led up to the reality is nothing compared to what the experience is like.  The day I moved out of my house and was alone was mixed with relief as well as incredible pain.  In the months that followed, I had to accept the pain as necessary to purging the poison that had built up.  Pain precedes healing.  That is my experience.

Dad is in the midst of the pain that heals.  He felt it coming, welcomed it in his own way, but I don’t think he was prepared for the intensity of the silence.  Comfort comes from friends, from memories, from the love of 58 years that will always be with him.

Steve, I guess I never fully realized what we had together.  Our relationship was never perfect, we fought at times, didn’t always see eye to eye, but she always supported me and showed me an intense loyalty.  I did not think about what a friend she was to me until she was gone.  We did everything together.  Your mom was always with me.  Now I know how important that was to me.  I am a blessed man.  God gave me the best woman for me.

I was a little astonished to hear that from him.  What he said about their relationship has always been obvious to me.  Yes, I remember the period when they fought intensely, how they came together and supported each other even during that period.  I can see how the way they quarreled strengthened their relationship instead of tearing it down.  Their love was clear to my brothers and I, had to be just as clear to each other.  My dad could make a family decision as could my mother without any question of doubt from either of them, probably because they made their decisions together.  When it came to discipline, rarely was it a singular act from my parents, never was discipline questioned by my mother or my father.  They were a team.

I told my dad something during that phone call that I have always wanted to tell him —

Dad, what you had with mom is what I wanted with my wife.  You both set the bar very high.  I wish I would have had what you had.  The expectations I had for my marriage came from watching two people love and support and need each other like my parents.  If we had come close, I would have been a very happy man.  I am jealous of how happy my mother made you.

Dad is becoming what mom was to my brothers and I.  Mom loved sending emails and texts.  While dad has always communicated with us, we are getting a barrage of messages from him every day.  I laugh.  I know my brothers are too.  It’s fun to see.

Like me, Dad is recovering with the help of friends, family, his church, as well as a healthy dose of God.  We are a lot alike, two gregarious extroverts who love talking to people.  I draw my energy from the people I know and meet, a personality trait I know I share with him.  My kids have said the same.  I like that.  I like that I am my father’s son.

 

The Ho Comes Early

12 Monday Nov 2018

Posted by shenrydafrankmann in Christmas, Uncategorized

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

fun, life, relationships

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My ‘lady friend’ (term courtesy of my neighbor) is Clark Griswold’s twin sister, interior design version.  True story.  The pictures above were taken inside my condo unit last night.  The pictures don’t do the decorating justice — it’s beautiful and all done, for the most part, by my lovely and talented ‘lady friend’.  The joy on her face as she toiled and fretted over each detail was cute, something I laughed at as I told her so.  That she would enjoy the decorating was never a question in my mind.  Every weekend since September, she has had a little bag of goodies for me, Christmas decorations scoured carefully by her practiced eyes from the racks at local Goodwill stores.  It’s a talent, a gift, her ability to find a gift in the midst of the mess of stuff at that store truly amazing to me.  D has been dreaming of how those lovingly selected trinkets would fit together inside (and outside) of my condo unit for months.  When she suggested early last week that our dates this weekend would consist of dinner and decorating at my place, I had no choice but to say yes.

While I am not really ready for Christmas to start happening yet, watching her in her element was pure entertainment.  Ideas kept flooding over her as she worked, changes and tweaks implemented until the detail was just right to her.  D would stand back, palms extended outward with a pleased smile on her face, admiring her handiwork.  It was cute to watch.  Saturday night, we worked on the tree together after dinner (stuffed shells with salad, chocolate cake and Malbec for dessert).  I was merely a participant as my personal designer woman directed the festivity.

It’s a good thing that I rarely use that dining room table.  We will need to invite friends over for dinner, so the festive arrangements can be shared.  My kitchen table (not pictured) also is decorated, although I had to rein her in a little bit there — that table is my place to hang out, as well as the place where some of my cooking prep is done.  Pretty is not practical, for the most part.  Decorating also spilled out into the hallway outside my front door, where an old wooden rocking horse awaits with a red bow around its neck, as well as an old restored wood sled.  The sled was used by my brothers and I, lovingly restored by my dad.  Some time this week, a wreath will be added to the sled.  There also is a welcome sign hung on my front door, a snowman couple wishing everyone a joyful season.

Now I can sit back and enjoy my decorated condo… until we help D’s mom decorate next weekend!

(I should probably apologize for the title of today’s blog — I couldn’t resist and it has no bearing on my ‘lady friend’… unless you talk to my downstairs neighbor.  In case anyone is wondering, heels were carefully removed at my front door.)

Tap Tap Tap

09 Friday Nov 2018

Posted by shenrydafrankmann in Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

life, neighbors, relationships

Getting mail is always so much fun, right?  That’s usually the case, unless the envelope has an IRS return address or is a bill.  When I was growing up, back in the stone age when email was a pipe dream conceived in a dime store science fiction novel, my brothers and I fought to be the privileged one to be asked to retrieve the mail from the mailbox each day.  There might be a treasure waiting, a postcard from a cousin visiting the Badlands or a letter or a prize from a cereal box contest win.. or a secret decoder wheel from Ovaltine!  The Ovaltine thing never happened.. I am not THAT old.

I thought about those days gone by this morning as I contemplated a piece of mail received in last night’s mail, an envelope with no return address, my name and address handwritten on the front, multiple stamps carefully stuck in a line on the front right corner.  Was it a secret admirer ready to declare her desire from afar?  My check from a Nigerian prince who couldn’t help but share his immense wealth with me?  An offer to star in George Clooney’s life story (it could happen)?  Alas, the post office stamp revealed that the envelope had been mailed from the post office down the street from my condo.  It had not been mailed from a far away admirer, a Nigerian prince, or George Clooney.

TBAs it turned out, the mystery envelope had originated from a source that I should have been able to guess, a person so close to me that they could have made the contents into a paper airplane and air mailed it to me — Terese, my downstairs darling, the nitpicker of my heart.  It’s been a while since she has formally declared her admiration, although she has bellowed a few exclamations of her deep desire in my direction lately.

It’s possible she is jealous of my “lady friend”.  I am offended, however, or maybe I should be honored that she is hiding her passion, carefully wording this letter to conceal her true feelings.  My heart is warmed knowing that she thinks of me as three legged (think about that one for a second).  Terese had help writing this letter, judging from the polite language.  That is not normally her style.  Control is her style and it’s still the reason for this letter.  A few seconds of tap tap tap once or twice a month is not a reason to mail a letter of complaint to your neighbor.

Wait, how does she know it was my lady friend?  Uh oh.  Now I know why it seems like my grandpa’s eyes have been following me.  Maybe I should hang that picture somewhere else.  A friend of mine suggested that I should dress in stilettos and drag, go downstairs to apologize.  That would keep her guessing!  It might also give her another reason to complain.  Our condo association rules don’t contain a clause that forbids cross dressing, at least I don’t think so.

She apparently travelled into the future to write this letter.  The DeLorean in her driveway should have been a tip off.  As my ever alert friend Mummalunga, observed, there just might be a tardis concealed under that tarp my neighbor has mounted under my balcony.

Shoes will be removed promptly every Saturday night (date night) upon entering my condo.  They usually are, but truthfully I have not reminded her as of late to remove her shoes, cognizant of the noise they are making but not really caring if my oversensitive neighbor is bothered.  Had she been polite to me from the beginning of my residency in my stately manor, I might be more inclined to be more polite to her.  That is not the best policy, I know, so I will try to comply within reason — until the next attempt to control comes from below.

It’s sad, really.  I would prefer a good relationship with my neighbors, of which I do have with my other neighbors, where all she would need to do is let me know that every once in a while something is bothering her.  Attempts to talk with her have always turned to hostility, so I know that can’t happen.  Ironically, two weekends ago, my other upstairs neighbor placed a nice bottle of wine in front of the doorstep of their three neighbors, with a note apologizing for the noise they have made while renovating their unit.  That was very cool.

Terese is obviously tip toeing, maybe even trying to start a paper trail.  She has curtailed her screeches.  She mailed this letter instead of taping it to my door.  Perhaps this letter was suggested by a lawyer, condo property management, or by the condo association board.  Either way, she has pushed her luck and knows it.  Constant complaining has weakened the strength of her complaints.

 

Yes, I really do say these things

  • My Father is Yacky
  • Image Bearer
  • Evening Ramble
  • Exposure of the Indecent Kind
  • Just Say Gnome

Yes, I really did

  • January 2023
  • December 2022
  • November 2022
  • September 2022
  • August 2022
  • July 2022
  • March 2022
  • January 2022
  • December 2021
  • November 2021
  • October 2021
  • May 2021
  • February 2021
  • January 2021
  • December 2020
  • November 2020
  • October 2020
  • September 2020
  • August 2020
  • July 2020
  • May 2020
  • April 2020
  • March 2020
  • February 2020
  • January 2020
  • December 2019
  • November 2019
  • October 2019
  • September 2019
  • August 2019
  • July 2019
  • June 2019
  • May 2019
  • April 2019
  • March 2019
  • February 2019
  • January 2019
  • December 2018
  • November 2018
  • October 2018
  • September 2018
  • August 2018
  • July 2018
  • June 2018
  • May 2018
  • April 2018
  • March 2018
  • February 2018
  • January 2018
  • December 2017
  • November 2017
  • October 2017
  • September 2017
  • August 2017
  • July 2017
  • June 2017
  • May 2017
  • April 2017
  • March 2017
  • February 2017
  • January 2017
  • December 2016
  • November 2016
  • October 2016
  • September 2016
  • August 2016
  • July 2016
  • June 2016
  • May 2016
  • April 2016
  • March 2016
  • February 2016
  • January 2016
  • December 2015
  • November 2015
  • October 2015
  • September 2015
  • August 2015
  • July 2015
  • June 2015
  • May 2015
  • April 2015
  • March 2015
  • February 2015
  • January 2015
  • December 2014
  • November 2014
  • October 2014
  • September 2014
  • August 2014
  • July 2014
  • June 2014
  • April 2014
  • March 2014
  • February 2014
  • January 2014
  • December 2013
  • November 2013
  • October 2013
  • September 2013
  • August 2013
  • July 2013
  • June 2013
  • May 2013
  • April 2013
  • March 2013
  • February 2013
  • January 2013
  • December 2012
  • November 2012
  • October 2012
  • September 2012

Categories

My brain hurts with you

  • January 2023
  • December 2022
  • November 2022
  • September 2022
  • August 2022
  • July 2022
  • March 2022
  • January 2022
  • December 2021
  • November 2021
  • October 2021
  • May 2021
  • February 2021
  • January 2021
  • December 2020
  • November 2020
  • October 2020
  • September 2020
  • August 2020
  • July 2020
  • May 2020
  • April 2020
  • March 2020
  • February 2020
  • January 2020
  • December 2019
  • November 2019
  • October 2019
  • September 2019
  • August 2019
  • July 2019
  • June 2019
  • May 2019
  • April 2019
  • March 2019
  • February 2019
  • January 2019
  • December 2018
  • November 2018
  • October 2018
  • September 2018
  • August 2018
  • July 2018
  • June 2018
  • May 2018
  • April 2018
  • March 2018
  • February 2018
  • January 2018
  • December 2017
  • November 2017
  • October 2017
  • September 2017
  • August 2017
  • July 2017
  • June 2017
  • May 2017
  • April 2017
  • March 2017
  • February 2017
  • January 2017
  • December 2016
  • November 2016
  • October 2016
  • September 2016
  • August 2016
  • July 2016
  • June 2016
  • May 2016
  • April 2016
  • March 2016
  • February 2016
  • January 2016
  • December 2015
  • November 2015
  • October 2015
  • September 2015
  • August 2015
  • July 2015
  • June 2015
  • May 2015
  • April 2015
  • March 2015
  • February 2015
  • January 2015
  • December 2014
  • November 2014
  • October 2014
  • September 2014
  • August 2014
  • July 2014
  • June 2014
  • April 2014
  • March 2014
  • February 2014
  • January 2014
  • December 2013
  • November 2013
  • October 2013
  • September 2013
  • August 2013
  • July 2013
  • June 2013
  • May 2013
  • April 2013
  • March 2013
  • February 2013
  • January 2013
  • December 2012
  • November 2012
  • October 2012
  • September 2012

Blogs I Follow (and maybe even read)

  • glennkaiser.com
  • There and Bach Again
  • Dean
  • Southern Georgia Bunny
  • The Rambling Biker
  • Storyshucker
  • Ah dad...
  • Squeeze the Space Man's Taco
  • I didn't have my glasses on....
  • kidscrumbsandcrackers
  • longawkwardpause.wordpress.com/
  • Cycling Dutch Girl
  • The Shameful Sheep
  • Blog Woman!!! - Life Uncategorized
  • Life in Lucie's Shoes
  • Fit Recovery
  • lifebeyondexaggeration
  • Globe Drifting
  • I AM TOM NARDONE
  • Cathy's Voice Now

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glennkaiser.com

There and Bach Again

a teacher's journey

Dean

Marketing major. Outdoor sports lover. San Diego living.

Southern Georgia Bunny

Adventures of an Southern Bunny everything from dating, sex, life and shake your head moments.

The Rambling Biker

Roaming & Rambling in search of MTB Stoke

Storyshucker

A blog full of humorous and poignant observations.

Ah dad...

I need the funny because they're teenagers now

Squeeze the Space Man's Taco

A journey into Cade's world

I didn't have my glasses on....

A trip through life with fingers crossed and eternal optimism.

kidscrumbsandcrackers

Kids - I`m like the old woman who lived in a shoe - Crumbs, my house is full of them - Crackers, Im slowly going

longawkwardpause.wordpress.com/

Cycling Dutch Girl

the only certainty is change

The Shameful Sheep

Blog Woman!!! - Life Uncategorized

Mother, Nehiyaw, Metis, & Itisahwâkan - career communicator. This is my collection of opinions, stories, and the occasional rise to, or fall from, challenge. In other words, it's my party, I can fun if I want to. Artwork by aaronpaquette.net

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