And now...let's go!

Hard work deserves a vacation, don't you think?

Sawyer or Zack?

Day #2

Thanks, Deaun!

Things are looking up!

Wonderful first day!
By the way, this just in:
The study, titled “Human Mortality Improvement in Evolutionary Context,” notes that primitive hunter-gatherers at age 30 have the same probability of death as present-day Japanese person at age 72. “In other words, “compared with the evolutionary pattern, 72 is the new 30,” the researchers write.

Well, hello there

Diversity

Snow Magic

Make a picture slideshow

Here we go again!

To church at UU and then back to you-know-where...

A return to the Science Spectrum to play in the water park

 Oooooops!

 Sorry, Charlie!

 Okay, then he'll shop...bananas must be on special!

Look, Emmy!

It's a banana sandwich, of course...(for PapaRob)  

 A last longing look at the Big Blue Ball

 Ta-DAH!

A minor boo-boo at the bubble station...

some chips and a soda made it well!

Watching Cats

This slideshow design personalized with Smilebox

Three Cheers for Pippi!

by Connie Schultz

Photo: Getty Images

To this day, I channel my favorite childhood hero—a scrappy little girl who asked a lot of questions and always put bullies in their place.

Most kids lucky enough to grow up with books discover a character who inspires them.

When I was a kid, a lot of girls loved teenage sleuth Nancy Drew. She was popular, pretty, and the smartest person in any room. As a 9-year-old girl, I was none of these things, but I could have overlooked Nancy's perfection had she not been richer than every family on our block. Combined.

Nancy Drew? Please. I had more in common with Pebbles Flintstone. I yearned for a character whose fiery spirit would embolden mine. A girl who knew what it was like to be a working-class kid in small-town Ohio. A girl who, give or take a lost parent or two and her pet monkey, was my fictional twin.

Hello, Pippi Longstocking.

I met 9-year-old Pippi at my ninth birthday party. Mom plopped Astrid Lindgren's book on my lap and warned me to stay away from the other kids because I had chicken pox. Understand, this was my first party ever that included guests other than my siblings and the relatives on Dad's ever-changing "Allowed to Enter" list. There I was, sitting on the couch in the living room, watching everyone in the dining room gobble up my cake.

Years later, Mom claimed this moment launched my writing career, as my account of the experience grew more horrific with each passing day. By week two, I was an orphaned child holed up in a tree house, peering between the floorboards to see how happy children lived. On. My. Birthday.

"So much drama," my mother said, shaking her head.

"We write from our wounds," I said, pressing my palm to my chest. I was 32 at the time.

Pippi was my one true friend that day, and on many days to come. She was a mighty force of inappropriate behavior powered by good intentions. She was me, except that her mother was gone and her father was a buccaneer captain gallivanting on the high seas. She also didn't have to go to school. Minor details.

Pippi was poor but never impoverished, abandoned but never alone. Her pigtails were so tight they stood straight out from her freckled face. That was the hair I wanted to have, instead of the bouffant sprouting from my head. This was during Mom's perm phase. My sisters and I marched into the beauty shop as children and left looking like the shortest grandmothers in Ohio.

Pippi carried out my every desire. She peppered adults with any question she wanted to ask (the nerve!) and was to-the-bone loyal to her friends. What I most loved was her intolerance for bullies. She hurled them into trees and onto rooftops. With one arm. I still harbor that fantasy. Don't ask for names.

By the time I was a teen, I was keen on other scrappy girls of fiction—Scout Finch, for example, and Francie Nolan—but I never lost that kinship with Pippi. I still admire her sense of justice.

Over the years I've written about a lot of bullies. Restaurant managers who skim servers' tips. Men who mistake women for chattel. Prosecutors who send innocent men to jail. Each time, I pull up a chair and raise my fingers to the keyboard, and Pippi Longstocking starts to type.

Or so I want to believe.

Aaah...

Three cheers for you !!  Great minds and hearts are meant to be engaged.  

Bev and Don

Sawyer and I love this!

Here we go!

"Help!"

"Typing"

"Emmy, I made a little mess."

 "Look, I put my boots on all by myself."

(Oooops...oh well.)

 Bubble Fun

 at the 

 Big Blue Ball

Friday Night at the Mall

Wheeeeeeeeeeee!

Stay tuned...

Just cute!

Too bad I'm allergic.

Stepping Out

Mementos

The 50th Anniversary clock from 1989

The "Isle of Capri" music box for Mother

The statue that stood on our piano for 50+ years

Mercy given and received

I check in with NieNie every day, because 

she helps me stay real.

THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 21, 2013

Inside and out.

I sat with Mr Nielson in "our spot" near the fireplace in the 

Grill Room at Sundance for lunch.

It was Valentines day.

We had just finished a great morning/afternoon skiing together.

I looked at Mr. Nielson and told him
how thankful I was.I can still do everything I want-

just like I did before the accident.  

I recounted all the things they said I'd never do.

Valentines Day was another blessed reminder
that I am still alive-
still very much alive.  

 I felt so happy and content.

Today, I overheard some men laughing and talking-
oh, and pointing...

{do grown people do that?} about me today.

That never gets any easier-
even when I think I look so much better.

I felt sad, angry, and then stupid.
I wanted to run away and hide, but part of me 
wanted to confront them and tell them whats up.

Instead I quickly remembered back to that afternoon
with Mr. Nielson at Sundance.  

 In that embarrassing moment, I tried to remember those feelings
I was having on Valentines Day with the man I love.

With that man who loves me back unconditionally.

I felt empowered and so confident
of my progress and myself.

I felt gratitude and pure contentment. 

Those tender feelings I experienced that afternoon
helped softened my heart and helped me move on and 
forgive and forget that upsetting moment.

Besides I had baby Charlotte in my arms.  

She was resting her little head on my shoulder
dozing off to sleep.

She loves and needs me completely regardless of what I look like.

She-me-us-motherhood are so much bigger to me
than anything those men could say about me.

  My purpose and role on this earth is so much bigger
than anything hurtful anyone can ever say or do.
My life and recent trial is something
they know nothing about.
Something that I hold sacred and treasure
in my heart.  

And that is what my accident has been to me-
a blessed, beautiful terrifically hard bump 
in my earthly journey.
My scars are just proof that I went through
something hard and that 
I am doing it every single day. 

I am so thankful for those reminders I get
now and then.  

They pick me up and dust me off
when it gets hard.
After, I found myself smiling at those men
and the world around me.
And I honestly truly felt lovely
inside and out.

Door Disease

Yikes! It's spreading!!

Awaiting painting...